All Fun And Games
by AllHailLordGaben
Summary: In the relative maturity of a once youthful galaxy, countless races pay the price for the mistakes that one old civilization made. But what if those ancients had not made the same mistakes, and they left behind a place that knew peace almost as much as it did war? What if a piece of that alternate path joined the former? Would the madness finally come to end? Probably not.
1. lolResearch: A Prologue

**Author's note: Hi, and welcome to my first attempt at writing something that isn't for school and is still readable. There are plenty of crossovers between 40K and other well-established sci-fi verses, and I've found myself enjoying several of them. So I wanted to try setting up a somewhat generic, militarized sci-fi society on the edge of Imperium territory as a backdrop for... another thing? *confidence drops 50%* Hope you guys like it.**

 **Oh yeah.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anythin' in 'dis, itz all Games Workshop's fault.**

In the morning cycle of a small, inhabited planet that no one alive really cared about, a spirited, cheerful scientist was ready for another day at work. After eating breakfast and making sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, he boarded a tram to get to his shift.

Coincidentally, a security guard whom he'd met on the first day was on it as well. The scientist noticed curiosity tugging at his mind, and indulges it. He was with a friend, after all, nothing bad would come from what he planned to discuss.

The security officer was incredibly hungover. Parties and all that good stuff. The newest passenger, however, didn't notice.

"Good morning Mr. Ramsen!"

Too loud. Definitely too loud. The scientist clearly didn't have any ill intent though.

"Morning, doctor."

Having successfully initiated a conversation, the scientist leaned towards the guard conspiratorially, as if he was about to share a secret that could end the universe just by being talked about too freely.

"Have you heard the rumors about what our colleagues are up to? It's unbelievable."

Mister Ramsen was about to ask just what these rumors were, until he remembered what all the 'off-topic discussion' had been about the day before. He cringed, unable to hide it from his oblivious coworker.

"When the hell are they not up to something? It's just rumors, it's always been that way. Probably just ran out of ideas for messes to make."

"That's a bit harsh, but..."

The scientist paused for a moment, unable to find the right words for his statement, before he simply laughed.

"Well, I'm sure you know Mr. Kennings, right?"

Who didn't know would be a more interesting question, the perpetually 'inquisitive' engineer was practically a celebrity around the place.

"Yeah."

The scientist looked incredibly excited to Ramsen at that point.

"He says that for the past six months, Gateway Research has been making a lot less noise than usual, but they're recruiting for personnel more aggressively than ever. You remember the last time it was like this?"

The recovering officer's face looked extremely thoughtful, likely because it was taking a huge amount of effort for him to respond.

"Before that subsidiary of theirs, Monolith Medical, released a new line of laxatives. Kennings started the rumors about those, if I remember right."

If the sarcasm in that statement had been noticed, the cheery scientist showed no signs.

"Very good point. But you do recall that giant information breach last year? Same behavior from Gateway."

The guard sighed.

"What can we do about it? It's not like we're the ones who have to worry about violently dying 'for science'."

There was silence for a few minutes, which the suffering security guard was deeply grateful for.

"Well, this part of the facility is where I get off! Have a good day, Mister Ramsen."

The doctor was a nice person, despite his inability to notice social cues, and he couldn't just let him walk away like that.

"Have fun."

The scientist got off the tram, inhumanly excited about another day at work. The security guard promised to himself to never try anything with the word 'tequila' in the name again.

* * *

In a place distant in terms of both physical location and time period, a politician lamented the state of his government to a trusted subordinate. In a subordinate's perpetual paranoia, always making sure to discreetly record everything around herself, the woman had caught something well above her pay grade.

 _It's a shame how some people grow up without ever seeing anything more than toxic smog and cracked concrete. Everyone around here, they've grown up being able to peek through a window and see the stars during the night cycle. The people of this planet take pride in this, in how space is still visible at night despite our industry and way of life. Indeed, some of the younger ones around here, they wish to see what's out there. They find the pull of the stars irresistible. They think glory, fortunes, and power lies out there, and it is theirs to find._

 _They are wrong. But their ignorance is understandable, for to be human in this age is to be spoon fed propaganda about the superiority of the monolithic Imperium Of Man. It's not like I never felt the same when I was their age._

 _Heresy, you say? I don't think you truly understand what that word means, my friend. I wasn't always a Planetary Governor of an out-of-the-way planet that conveniently was my homeworld, Adept. I used to be a proud and, dare I say, competent officer in the Imperial Guard. I fought and bled against monsters that literally boiled my comrades' blood under their skin whilst flaying them alive, against sadistic xenos covered in pointy blades and slow acting toxins, and against traitors armed with flying tanks and rifles that killed my friends from a kilometer out._

 _As you can see, I survived where so many of my colleagues did not. Of course, being on good relations with a superior whose daughter I married helped, but a man lacking strategy and initiative in my position would have been by the Emperor's side much sooner than he would've likely planned for._

 _It all taught me that ignorance may be bliss, but only for so long. I know that the Imperium as it is is but a shadow of what it once was, hindered by corruption, lack of leadership, and a miasma of utter incompetence._

 _I know that the Adeptus Mechanicus oil themselves over the ruins down south because this planet used to be a place of high technology and knowledge millennia ago, something it will never be again._

 _I know that even without being under direct attack many planets are struggling to hold their own lines against the Tyranid filth._

 _I know that the Arch-Heretic is readying yet another Black Crusade and the previous dozen or so were just a warm-up session for the traitorous scum, although just about everyone knows about the daemonic incursions occurring every couple hundred years._

 _I know that the arrogant Eldar xenos are putting together the final pieces of their plan to survive whatever they call their final battle against Chaos. Good riddance._

 _And I know that the forces of the Emperor are, everyday, being sent into combat more and more often and dying in ever greater numbers to buy time for the rest of us. Some even dare to claim that even His Angels will not be enough to plug the innumerable gaps in the defense. They always disappear sooner or later._

 _The face is not necessary, Adept. Think about it. All this talk about battles being won means that there are wars being fought, likely more than ever before. If any other battles were victories, they would not have been conveniently forgotten. That means we are losing ground, slowly, perhaps, but surely. It does not take much effort to confirm that._

 _I am not my counterpart on the next habitable planet over. If you're taking notes, that man isn't fit to run anything more than the simplest data entry operations, and should be relegated as soon as possible to such a job. But I digress. I keep an ear out, because in this world, one does not need to look for trouble in order to meet it._

 _The Imperium is crumbling, ever so slowly, and this is the truth, as much as how a Guardsman is worth less than the lasguns we give them. It is the forty second millennium. Whatever passed for hope in the previous millennia is dead, and all that's left in this forsaken galaxy for those bright-eyed children is war._

 _May our Holy God-Emperor have mercy upon us all. The gates are beginning to give in under the strain, and the light is dying precisely when we need its guidance most._

Of course, this is never spoken of by anyone who might have heard the conversation or its records. To speak of such things, or to act on it, is to risk creating unrest and heresy where there was none, or at least not enough to earn the ire of the ever-watchful Inquisition. It would be disastrous if there was a leak and the wider populace learned about the subjects of the discussion.

After all, the continually temperamental masses cannot be trusted with such dangerous power.

* * *

In a more rational and less nihilistic world, a group of underpaid and overworked scientists, engineers, and technicians toiled to run an experiment to confirm a potentially monumental scientific breakthrough, with emphasis on underpaid and overworked.

"Sensor package functional. Power supply stable. All systems working within acceptable tolerance levels. Testing room fully sealed. The recorders are ready, and so is the test, doctor."

The head of the project nodded.

"All right, good. Before we start, I would like to say a few choice words. It has been from Gateway Research that the technology and knowledge that allowed mankind and its allies to not only survive, but thrive in an uncaring galaxy, was created."

He paused. The project's newest overseer had a certain reputation, backed by accomplishments and a few, less savory, actions. He looked at every other staff member present in the eye to make sure they weren't sleeping through everything. Nobody had dared to slack off under his watch. He continued, and a few, more on edge than the others, breathed small sighs of relief.

"From us came the FTL drives that are found in just about every spacecraft in the known universe, and power generators that don't require incredibly rare materials to build or explode on touch. Despite the hardship, this will undoubtedly be the next great thing to come from the best and brightest at Gateway. We have come a long way since the beginning of this project, when it was just an idea on paper shared between a small group of visionaries and thinkers."

He turned away from the group of men, women, and one AI avatar to look at the culmination of all their time and effort on a large, meter thick piece of reinforced armorglass. No one really used the imperial or customary systems anymore in any situation, although a handful of devices could still do the conversions between the metric system and inches.

"And if all goes as planned, we will be remembered as revolutionaries of our time, the ones who made space-time manipulation possible for mankind. Commence testing."

The face of the scientist next to him, the one who had delivered the good news, curved upwards ever so slightly with pride.

"Input one megawatt, in increments of 100 kilowatts."

A few scientists and technicians interacted with the control display and a few prominently placed, rather old-school buttons and dials on a console.

"Slight deviancy, within predicted levels Dr. Jennings. No change in tested variable."

"Increase total power to two megawatts, same increments."

"Slight change in tested variable doctor, clocks no longer in sync by about 5 milliseconds."

A rare, thin smile broke out on the veteran scientist's face.

"Don't break the champagne out yet, boys and girls, although we do have some very good vintage from the sixth millennium in the house. We need to know how this effect scales up in response to power input. Push the system to five megawatts. Same increments."

A woman in the midst of flicking some switches suddenly looked rather distracted. No one, including the technician overseeing the experiment's progress, noticed.

"Increasing to five megawatts. I'm reading major fluctuations in the system, doctor. Barely within our established tolerance parameters. Cameras picking up distortion in the testing chamber."

A flicker of surprise and understanding appeared in the eyes of the then-frozen woman.

"My God."

The overseer suddenly looked slightly annoyed at being interrupted, although the expression didn't last.

"What is it?"

Righteous anger was unleashed.

"That's where the budget for the anti-mass spectrometer went, wasn't it? Of all the things you could have spent billions of credits on, you chose two millennia old alcohol."

Just retribution was returned.

"And during what could be a momentous scientific success in human and Federation history, you choose to discuss the project budget. Keep going, at worst we'll put the shielding and the sensors to the test."

The previously indignant complainant now looks sufficiently chastened, but the damage to morale had been done. A scientist doing actual work managing the test, expressed more relevant concerns.

"Scenarios 33-78 within realm of possibility, now."

Realizing he'd slipped up on control, the overseer moved quickly to squash the dissent.

"Those are worst case scenarios. Still not likely to happen. Don't make Informational Security doubt your loyalty, Researcher Salim. I'd prefer not to have to take over the controls of as big a project as this."

An uncommitted staffer looked over, quickly looking away due to natural survival instincts. Yet despite any implied threats, the recipient of any such messages wasn't fazed.

"I fully believe you. Clocks out of sync by about 50 milliseconds. Power supply getting some feedback from the system, but it's low enough to not interfere with the experiment. Some nonessential sensors appear to be malfunctioning. Scenarios 34-50 appearing very much possible now."

Any hostility on the senior scientist's face had by then disappeared, satisfied by submission.

"Check on the emergency systems. Continue to five megawatts, the area of effect doesn't seem to have spread beyond the initial ranges."

The junior scientist found fault with this, however, his face looking up from gently glowing monitors.

"The evacuation procedures are ready to be enacted, but is pushing the system this far necessary? We can already tell throwing in more power boosts the effects of the equipment, as well as what those effects are."

Reasonable question. Resonance cascades and the like had come from pushing gear too far beyond their specifications.

"We can always cut off the power if it gets out of hand. And we've got the proper gear for an evac. Don't worry about it. In the meantime, we need to complete the data set, so someone working on what comes out of this doesn't miss something and cause a real accident."

Strange logic, but it made sense to those listening.

"System receiving sustained input rate of five megawatts a minute. Data successfully encrypted and transferred to the CSS _Enlightening View_. Significant amount of feedback to power supply, therefore activating emergency cutoff and shutting down all systems in experiment."

"See, perfectly simple experiment. Nothing went wrong."

For a full second, there was complete silence, impossible when moments ago there were a dozen people moving around and talking before the word 'simple' described their test. If any of the people in the room were more sensitive, they would have noticed a palpable aura of dread hanging over the suddenly terrified staffers.

As with other convenient, unexplained plot events, the chaos began with a single sentence.

"Testing room sensors dead."

The previously rather uninterested monitor of the test, also known as rebellious scientist Researcher Salim, started panicking.

"I cut the power, but the device is somehow generating its own. And before you ask, no, that was not part of the intended design. Damn it, everything was going well until you dropped in the word 'simple'!"

The others in the room, with the exception of the AI(due to incapacity for fear), were all terrified, be it by the fact that they might very well be casualties in a disastrous experiment or that one of their coworkers had just spoken to their boss in such a disrespectful manner. But the boss was in a good mood. The job was done, after all, and there was yet any paperwork to be done for the staff members.

"This is going quite well. Proceed to evacuation points immediately. I'll take care of the servers and the device. We can figure out the energy producing characteristics of this device later, but only if we're alive to rebuild it."

After security officers and scientific staff ran in an orderly fashion to a large, well-kept shuttle, a distress signal was sent out to the 43-year-old _Enlightening View_ , per standard protocol. The re-purposed frigate noticed, among other things, a spike of energy emissions within a planetary system from which it had received a correctly coded distress signal, containing some important information about a secret project.

Other things it had noticed were a drastic and unexpected change in the constellations around it, which was drawing a lot more attention than the problems of some far off people. The calmer ones wondered whether the timing of the three events was more than just suspiciously coincidental. Back at the super-secret project, one man was trying to cheer everyone else up until his superior returned from the server rooms.

"Whoops. Everyone all right? You look rather unhappy Salim, cheer up. We did our job, and the drinks are still good. Look, we've got cups!"

The general mood improved immensely at that.

* * *

And while cups were filled and laughter was shared, far away a stream of images and scenes flowed through the mind of a leader at sleep. Though disjointed and vague, they weren't simply nonsensical dreams, or mere recollections of his past. They were the future, the skeins of fate, something which would've driven a weak mind to madness just with a glimpse.

Slowly at first, they came, and he was able to casually browse them at his leisure and dismiss them at his will. But faster and faster and faster and faster they came, in a seemingly endless wave, until he couldn't tell them apart, and until a loud, out-of-place noise suddenly pierced the silence. He shouted.

"Brothers! Sisters! You are not alone! We are-"

Looking around, he found he was alone in his room, with everything but the lamp on the floor in its proper place. The poor thing had belonged to his teacher, with sculpting done by long-dead savants and artists, and now it had a crack running down the side of its wraithbone shell. It could be healed. It could have been much worse.

But as his heart rate slowed, until it was merely significantly faster than a human under duress, he was busy thinking about what he had just watched. Despite all his power, all his mental fortitude, he couldn't recall exactly the things he had seen. At the same time, even though no one else would hear, the psyker felt that he had to say something to describe his feelings about it.

"This is going to be hard to explain."

Whether it was about the lamp, or about what he suspected were serious portents of danger(the mon-keigh were always danger), he couldn't say.

 **A/N: Criticism and explanations as to what I could do better would be really appreciated! I'm not sure if I made the conversations too vague to follow(making dialogue the focus was my intention here) and if the events leading up to the new guys landing in the 40th millennium, birthplace of "grimdarkness," were too convenient, as I didn't want to spend a lot of time and text on something that's pretty implausible in the first place. Although I'm still not sure about the name, that might change...**


	2. Alphabet Soup

**A/N: Hi, and happy Fourth Of July! Steam Summer Sale got in the way for me, so I may have worked on this one for a little bit less time than I did the first one. There are certainly no dark implications to be drawn from this, absolutely none.**

 **Oh yeah, if I haven't already spammed this on the first chapter, this is my first ever fanfic(practice is for n00bs, I am a skrub) and so it might grow powerful plot holes. Did anyone catch any Half Life references in the previous chapter though? No? :(**

 **Highflyer – Thx! It's great to hear you like it. After I started writing this chapter, I agree that the title was too meh for something that swings between extreme, cynically cynical cynicism and 40K despair, so I have nuked it from orbit and replaced it with something a bit more toxic. RIP _And Their Dreams Were Humble Ones_. However, I will say that politicians have the occasional habit of exaggerating things(and I might've gone a bit overboard with that part), and I have no wish for heretical amounts of grimderp to show up here(bad luck and Orks aside), so I'll try to make the Imperium Of Man just slightly drowning under paperwork.**

"Well, this is unusual."

"Captain Obvious, this one is." - Original holovid quote lost in the Seven Decade War.

"Yes, Elvrad, this is unusual, enough that it is highly concerning to the rest of the Farseers. Our Craftworld shall not be left unable to respond, however. You will gather a number of our people and a few ships for yourself and the leader of this mission, which is going to be Farseer Lileneth."

There was some confusion for Captain Obvious in this, however, and a hint of distaste followed.

"Honored Farseer, are you not leading the expedition yourself?"

The amount of formality in that one question almost hurt.

"Sadly, no. She needs the experience without someone watching over her. This mission will require skills dealing with the other races, particularly humans, and Lileneth shall gain some experience in advancing the interests of our home with others."

Well, that was relatively straightforward. There was a threat against the translator's well-being within the compliment, as usual. His mentor and father, however, wasn't quite finished.

"Also, make sure that once Lileneth has been told about this assignment that the majority of your crews have a basic understanding of Low Gothic. Make sure _she_ knows the crude language, actually."

Oh no. Not like this. His sister had hated those lessons, and suffering through her unsubtle displays of disgust for such things had been about as enjoyable as attempting to hug a Tyranid. But he was a patient person(in his opinion), and it would be no different(again, in his opinion).

"Absolutely, father."

* * *

Rarely has unplanned change ever been a good thing for a government. Change could too easily herald a disaster or a shake-up amongst the leadership, or an end to a reliable source of bribes. Almost as important, a government's role is to be a source of stability for its people and manage these changes.

That was why governments across the years, despite the countless different forms they took, all had one uniting factor. They reacted very quickly, if not always effectively, to major change.

And so several of the members of the Federation Delta Sector Council(also known as the FDSC), in all of its glorious redundancy, found themselves rudely awakened in the middle of their sleep, and being dragged to an emergency meeting to actually do their jobs.

The Senator of Delta Sector was also known as the Minuteman for a habit of too closely watching chronographs during meetings, and Just Another Candidacy, due to a lack of anything remarkable having happened under his office. He was also deemed by many to be able to sleep in his work clothing without wrinkling it, an admirable trait if true, because he was always ready for business, whether it was telling the press off or directing a superior's attention away from problems.

At the 355th emergency meeting in the history of the ruling council, he appropriately spoke the first words.

"Exactly what happened? All I'm hearing about is this panic about how we're all doomed like that one time in 2012, and it cut off my break period."

Indubitably wise words. A shapeshifting blob of metal with what looked like a glowing sphere for eyes replied.

"Short answer: Local reality transposed over someone else's, rules of reality similar to ours. Different time and place, year 42,000, according to local transmissions. Interesting how language and number systems nearly identical to ours. Thousands of years, different universe, still no one have a good replacement for numbers."

Before anyone could properly respond to that infodump, the youngest member of the council summed up the overall reaction, quite eloquently.

"Edgy."

The senator turned to glare at the Ministry Of Media representative, and decided not to bother. He doubted his gaze would get past all those displays and news updates. He also wasn't sure whether the spokesperson had even directed that comment at the proceedings, or something else. An Archivist in the room decided to change the subject.

"All right, so how did we end up here? Do we know what enabled this?"

The Federation Operational Intelligence Affairs(proper acronym FOIA) officer broke her silence.

"To simplify to extremes, the reason for this shift was complications in an experiment by Gateway Research."

On the Secretary of the Treasury's display, she sighed and rubbed her temples. Despite millennia of advancement, no one had ever managed to come up with a prescription for such problems. The most likely reason was that there wasn't much profit to be made.

Meanwhile, the Archivist, seeing a chance to write the history he usually was found recording, decided to take the initiative.

"Every time we have a legitimate problem, it's their fault. Last time it was taking down several sectors' Interweb connections for a full 24 hours for a 'social experiment', now it's dumping us into what could be hell for all we know. Anyone up for an audit vote?"

* * *

In the forty second millennium, incompetence and corruption was rife. The operative word for survival in a violent world was simply, 'luck'. Even the mighty wall of bureaucracy that was the Imperium Of Mankind relied on fickle fortune to keep itself going. After all, they knew only one way to travel faster-than-light, and the Immaterium is an ever-shifting hell subject to the whims and desires of monstrous gods and predatory creatures.

The brave men and women serving an iron will didn't balk at such things. They endured, thanks to the much expounded efforts of their Emperor on his golden latrine.

But even with an ascendant's protection, there was little that could ever be done to prevent a Warp storm from throwing around the mightiest battleships like toys in a child's hands. Without the protective light of the Astronomican, the Navigators leading supply fleets and battle groups could not safely travel.

But as in all those great stories, one day, an age-old Warp storm lying on the edges of unimportant Imperial territory died down. Nothing that needed to be fought came out of it. The occurrence was noted, but whereas others would be excited and prepare for adventure, there was only muted relief within the ranks of the Emperor's servants. They were fighting so many things already.

However, others didn't choose blissful ignorance. There were those who stood to make profits regardless of whether they find themselves in war or peace, for one. And of course, there were those who simply stumbled and trampled their way across discoveries due to a distinct lack of concern for anything but propa' killyness and dakka.

* * *

Alexis Putin, Rogue Trader of the Imperium, and one of the richest men across several sectors of Imperial space, was busy.

He had been spending a huge amount of his time pulling together his assets to prepare for a run to unload his wares, and now he was expecting to finally be able to get rid of a lot of unwanted inventory.

At the same time, he had been getting reports about planets and systems being revealed by the fading of an ancient Warp storm. Potential glory and riches lay in the bringing of worlds to compliance, even in the unlikely possibility they were uninhabited. There were strict orders from above not to interfere yet, though he was busy searching for loopholes.

Such hard work was tiring for a man like him, albeit almost any type of work could make a man like him tired. He put down his dataslate, and reached down to a cabinet.

He pulled out a bottle of wine, opening it as he did so. Pouring it into a glass, he relaxed in anticipation of reward for a job well done.

Instead, his vox rang and he tensed, fully ready to flay alive with words whoever had the bright idea to interrupt one of his rare breaks. Instead of following standard procedure and tossing the Emperor-forsaken thing at a wall, he answered it, a picture of his secretary sweating bullets appearing on the screen. The messenger wasn't going to get to state his message just yet, though.

"Now is _not_ a good time to be bothering me, Swanson. I swear, by the Emperor himself, if this isn't important, I will personally see to it that you are placed on the receiving end of an Arbites interrogation and ejected out of an airlock after-"

Apparently something was terrifying the secretary, enough that he dared to cut off his boss, for the unfortunate man did so.

"S-sir! There's an Ork fleet raiding our facilities! The ships are huge, and they're right on top of us! I can hear them scream and shout out there! The defense frigates have all been blown out of the skies by now and there's a horde of them barreling towards our orbital station right now!"

"Damnation! Well, rally the men and hold them off. Once you've done that, get to the _Emperor's Thrones_ immediately. The Imperial Navy must be warned! We shall-"

The structure screeched and the connection between the Rogue Trader and his subordinate was lost. The lights went out, shortly afterwards being replaced by the gentle green glow of emergency lighting. The Rogue Trader cursed, picking up his laspistol and a small case, and left the office for his flagship's bridge.

Shoving his way through people he didn't care for, he ran. His groxhide boots thumped every time they hit the steel floor as he made turns left and right, following a path only he knew in the confusion and panic.

He was almost there. Just up ahead, there was an entrance to his ship, and he would be safe once he was on it.

The guards were dead, he realized. Their unmoving bodies and splattered blood said that much. And the shouting and violence wasn't as far away as he'd thought, as he watched Orks exit his ship and smash through part of a bulkhead. His escape plan was foiled, by all odds accidentally.

Ahead, the burly, belligerent creatures shouted at each other in their ridiculous accents, butchering words and grammar relentlessly. He could make out what one of them, the loudest, said.

" **Oi, we'z 'ere ta' foight, not pranz' aroun' liehk da' pansie Eldarz!** "

It seemed that the fungi were bickering between each other. He hadn't thought they had the brainpower for different opinions.

They did, apparently, because the Ork he had heard promptly decapitated the one next to him with a large axe-thing to accentuate his point. Or maybe it was just for the sake of it. He didn't claim to understand xenos minds, that would be heretical.

Perhaps if they all killed one another, a possibility, he would be able to get rid of the survivors and regain control of his ship.

The Shoota of the biggest of the Ork group fired at point blank range, banging incessantly as it blew apart the disobedient one's head and torso with a volley of rounds. Somehow, a few projectiles missed. When the other Orks had stopped their firing and the leader considered his target dead enough, the human prayed to the Emperor that the dissent had spread.

" **We'z follow da' Warboss' ordaz! An' 'iz ordaz' are ta' loot da' place an' do targit practiz on da' 'umiez!** "

As he put his head down in case any more bullets flew, he instead heard a deafening cry.

" **WAAAAAAGH!** "

Guess the prayer didn't get through.

Or maybe the dice gods just hated the well-off bastard, because the stack of boxes he'd been using as cover fell down, not just exposing himself, but also drawing the attention of half a dozen bloodthirsty Orks.

The man reacted a bit faster than the dumbfounded Orks did, raising his laspistol towards the hulking green warriors. Slim, elegant, and made with real, highly polished cherry wood for a handle, the laspistol was a family treasure, high-carat gold forming a pair of aquilas on its sides along with functional iron sights on top of the thing. He pulled the trigger.

While the pistol itself had weathered the passage of time well under its many owners' loving care, the power cell, which had been left in the magazine well the whole time, had degraded. More specifically, the ability to regulate its output had slowly degraded over the many years.

The pistol deafened the profiteer, the corridor's shade of neon green momentarily blending with a bright red as the beam ionized the air, imparted a massive amount of energy into the closest Ork, exploded said Ork's torso, and then stopped abruptly at a bulkhead.

Caught him by surprise, that was for sure. Was his laspistol the secret identity of a superhero bolter?

The remaining four Orks didn't care. Their leader bellowed in a barely coherent manner.

" **WAAAAAAAAAAGH! KILL 'IM BOYZ! FER GORK AN' MORK!** "

He recovered quickly, aiming the laspistol at the head of the leader, and with a quick beseeching of the machine spirit, pulled the trigger. Considering how well he'd just rolled, he was bound to have some luck.

Frak. Nothing. Although the Orks did get closer. Figuring that his first shot had drained the power pack, he flattened himself against the floor. He reached for a fresh one in his pocket.

Feeling legitimate fear, the Rogue Trader's fingers fumbled with the magazine release, once, then twice, before the power pack fell out with a clatter onto the floor. Lying prone, it took precious seconds to get out the fresh pack before he slid it into place. He got up into a crouching position, aiming his gun at the head of the head of the pack.

Too long.

A bullet from the Ork leader's ridiculous Shoota bounced off the ceiling, ricocheted against a bulkhead wall, and unceremoniously smashing into the desperate man's throat and exiting his spine. Falling from nerveless hands, his treasured pistol clattered carelessly against the floor.

The seconds it took for him to fall seemed to drag for eternity. Had he served the Emperor faithfully? Would he approve of all the things he had done? What would it be like? His train of thought ended there, before the whispers of madness spoke within his mind. The former adventurer struggled against them, but it was a losing battle, he couldn't dispel the veil of lies upon him. He grasped for his nonexistent throat with hands he didn't have, before they suddenly stopped. Where the swirl of painful, simply wrong colors had been, there was now a serene, golden glow ahead of him. It was so quiet. How long he waited, he didn't know, before he felt a push at the back of his mind. He walked forwards, towards the promised land.

* * *

" **Woah. Boss, look a' dis!** "

An Ork had accidentally smashed into a few buttons on the ship's bridge, and all of a sudden there was a huge map floating in the air. The surprise had resulted in a few Shootas and Sluggas going off, scarring the Imperial ship's abused interior even more.

The Warboss was apprehensive. The humies had put up much less of a fight than he'd expected, but at least the ship he was in was big. Big meant plenty of space for dakka.

But perhaps this new discovery would make up for it. There were a few planets marked as 'new' on the map, and considering how 'new' Shootas and 'new' loot was always great, perhaps going new places would be fun as well. Maybe he would discover new things to foight, other than the boring humies. He randomly chose one of the 'new' systems and pointed at it. All the other Orks turned to look, one stumbling over a random hunk of metal that had been sitting right at his foot. Warboss Grotshootah bellowed.

" **We'z goin' there! Fer Gork and Mork!** "

Remembering that the rest of his fleet probably didn't have the same map, in an uncommon burst of kunning, he decided to make sure the rest of his ragtag fleet got the update. The Mekboy would get the job done!

" **Mekboy Dakkawiz! Git ya' ass ova' 'ere!** "

Perhaps he wasn't quite _cunning_ , however. Mekboyz typically weren't the type to get the job done, even with lots of teef as payment.

* * *

All great civilizations fall sooner or later. In the forty second millennium, dust and ruins serves as damning proof. Some bow to the inevitability of extinction, while others simply break under the crushing weight. Some refuse to give up so easily, bringing to bear knowledge and technology to stay alive in the face of opposition, constantly searching for advantages to leverage and ways to defy fate.

In doing so, some manage to hold on to the belief that their glory days are still within grasp.

"I know what you are about to tell me. I have foreseen this in the runes."

Warlock Elvrad raised an eyebrow internally. The point?

"Lileneth, it's not that big a deal. And I thought that you were still learning how to interpret the runes. What exactly did they tell you?"

If he was hoping to get a straightforward answer from his temperamental sister, he was sorely disappointed.

"Many things."

By the gods, their conversation was really going places. Really, teaching understanding to a mon-keigh might be an easier endeavor than dealing with his sister's(legendary) stubborness.

"Sis, all father wanted me to tell you was that the Craftworld is preparing a few ships and staff for you, and you need to brush up on your Low Gothic. Autarch Mellis and I will assist you. But the thing is, dad really wants to talk to you. He's worried, you haven't talked to him since the celebration of your Path choice."

The younger one sighed, her frustration apparent in her body language, but replied before her brother could get in another word.

"Look, I'm completely fine. I'll lead as he asks. It's for the betterment of the Craftworld, and I'm not afraid to give up anything for my home. Even the part about speaking the language of those absolutely disgusting primitives, I'll handle it. I know my responsibilities. Maybe when I'm back, he can explain everything. But I can't talk to him, not yet."

The Warlock wondered why his sister, a former Thought-Talker who had served as ambassador to other Craftworlds along with some alien species, held such particular distaste for humanity. Not that he particularly condoned that disgusting, arrogant Imperium of theirs or their practices, but once in a while they showed some competence and even initiative(he didn't realize that most members of other Craftworlds would've burned him with witch-fire for that).

"That's fine. The others will be ready whenever you are, that's easy. Just promise me you won't put off visiting our father, all right?"

Seeing his sister flinch at that, he wondered for a moment. His runes had warned of something related to family and the past, but he hadn't been sure when the warning would come to pass, or what it was, exactly.

Now, he supposed, he had a clue.

* * *

The vote hadn't passed.

Citing lack of resources and possible backlash against such an established and storied(yeah, right) corporation over such accusations, the Senator had brought the Council around to postponing any such possibilities for a long time to come.

Instead, there had been the usual whining and ranting about Gateway Research's overall incompetence, the high point of which had been when the Federation Guard general had walked out in a huff(it was presumed that he needed a bathroom break and didn't want to admit it), before the subject was closed and slightly more productive discussions resumed.

"...Exactly how many systems we still have is unclear, but we have reestablished contact with 68 planets, and 52 systems are confirmed intact. Of course, there are other assets to account for."

The senator nodded to the Federation Navy Vice Admiral, who began to speak. A few choice images and lines of text replaced the space where she had been showing on the display moments before.

"Thank you. Our sector, if any of you didn't know, was the focus of a massive Federation Navy build-up in preparation for the arrival of Swarm Fleet D-07, which was detected out in deep space by the Vigilance sensor network."

Looking at her files, she continued. Several others in the room look primed to fall asleep, whether they were on the holodisplays or physically present.

"Considering our current situation, it may not ever be arriving. We have a large amount of transports and freighters on hand. Naval fleets Delta Prime, Delta Barra, Delta Charlie, and Delta Epsilon are all ready for action, although Delta Foxtrot lost its primary operating base, and with it all of its command staff and nearly all of its ships. Its assets will be merged into fleets Epsilon and Beta."

The Federation Guard general looked pensive for a moment.

"Jaden was a good officer. Always willing to lend a hand to us grunts on the ground."

The admiral wasn't so nostalgic.

"Don't get too sad about it, you'll probably see his sorry ass again once we get back from this place."

There were a few laughs, but the atmosphere was tense. The admiral finished with her summary.

"All in all, our shipyards and docks are ready for work, and we have 27 heavy ships ranging from carrier to destroyer classes. We also have a fully equipped Pioneer-class ship, the _Free Will_ , and her accompanying support fleet. Each of the three fleets have a significant number of escorts and lightweights. Against any foe back home, such firepower would have crushed anything. We at the Navy are ready for action."

The general spoke again, before the Senator could leave his own comments.

"Damn, _Free Will_? That ship's won battles on its own, hasn't it?"

There were a few nods of agreement, and the mood in the room improved markedly, excluding those not really paying attention. One might have found it a miracle that their particular Council continued to function in the face of all their differences, whether between personalities or in opinions.

The Intelligence Affairs officer, being the skeptic, burst the bubble of goodwill that had just begun to form in the room.

"Against isolated, imbecilic, and self-destructive alien species, yes, it has."

She ignored the daggers glared at her across digital devices and considered her next words.

"Now, we cannot possibly know the true capabilities of the local peoples without proper scouting and a few scans, and that is what my agency shall be doing without further ado."

There was complete silence for a moment, as the others waited for her to continue. She didn't seem to be planning on it. As the pause grew awkward, the senator intervened and asked her a question, quite politely in fact.

"Is that all?"

"No. From stray transmissions that our analysts and the Engineers have picked up, the dominant power in this entire galaxy is the Imperium Of Humankind. As noted, their language is similar to ours. Interceptions frequently mention praise to a deity they call the God Emperor Of Man, as well as eradicating, and I quote, 'heretics and xenos scum'."

The Archivist shuddered. The last time anyone with the title of Emperor had power was in the early second millennium, when Earth's fractured civilizations almost set off a process that would see it wiped out in nuclear fire. Donald something, the man's name was.

Of course, the part mentioning the words 'heretics' and xenos scum' gave away a few things about Imperial culture, which was almost as discouraging as the subject of the divine 'Emperor'. Almost.

"I say we just send an invasion force into this Imperium, find out what they've got."

Everyone stared at the general, who suddenly appeared simultaneously annoyed and embarrassed, and the confused expression really didn't fit with the crisp uniform on those broad shoulders or the war-hardened man. He managed to get out a few words, though.

"I was just joking. Mostly."

The meeting dragged on, for an insufferable length of time.

* * *

Autarch Zella Mellis was having a horrible day.

"No, Irevel, that's the wrong order. You utilize your helmet emitters to scream at them, then you cut them up, not the other way around. And why are you asking me? Shouldn't you be asking Exarch Allena?"

A newly inducted Howling Banshee shifted uncomfortably in her armor.

"Well, I, uh, I may have accidentally, um..."

...

"Well what? I am not responsible for blubbering children on the battlefield, you-"

"Excuse me, Autarch Mellis, could I borrow some of your time?"

Oh, this was a much better development. They couldn't afford to have an audience for this though.

"Irevel. Leave to your shrine at once. We'll continue this conversation later."

The Howling Banshee retreated quickly, struck by the imperious tone of her orders. The two others in the room waited until the door had silently closed itself behind the Aspect Warrior, before the Autarch turned her attention to the Eldar next to her, and smiled.

"Are we doing formal titles today? Well hello then, _Warlock Elvrad_."

She giggled, like it was the funniest joke ever, before taking in the somber expression and armor set that her friend was wearing, and her mind turned sober instantly.

"Oh, this is about those new divinations from the Seer council, isn't it?"

Elvrad simply nodded.

"Oh, your father has already talked to me about that, don't be worried."

At that, the Warlock became confused, and decided to put voice to his concerns.

"Wait, so why did he send me here, If you already know what your task is and where we'll be going?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I suppose you could tell him that I'm up for it, especially if you're coming along. But since you seem to have a little bit of free time now, maybe we could make your sidetrack worth it."

She smiled and as she closed the distance with inhumanly graceful steps, Elvrad smiled a little bit as well.

* * *

Auraven Varsen flicked through the views that his Craftworld was sending him. Everything was where it was supposed to be, the very image of grace, splendor, and efficiency rolled into one.

Ships were being loaded in Vel'tan's docks, Aspect Warriors were training with each other and their Exarch leaders, his son was making out with an Autarch, an Artisan friend of his was repairing the lamp he had broken, wait, what?

He pulled back the images he had just dismissed, and went through them again.

Elvrad was in a relationship with his best friend's daughter? And he hadn't thought to mention that fact to his own father at any previous time? He had been suspicious of that possibility, but he hadn't thought there was an actual chance of such a thing.

His good mood evaporated like a friendly atmosphere in the presidential elections of ancient Nord Merica.

 **A/N: If you were wondering, yeah, the 'Engineers' I'm mentioning here are totally not related to the T-1000 or the Engi race in FTL, and they totally don't have a relation to that Necrodermis material.**

 **Our venerable Imperium isn't going to make a showing just yet, and the Eldar, the resident Interweb trolls, are soon going to pop in and say hi. Although the usual greenskinned boyz may be introducing themselves in a rather distinctive manner. Hope you guys liked this, and I would love to hear what you guys think. Is it going too slow(aka would you guys prefer more action) or do I need to throw in more detail for the scenes or is the way I'm writing the dialogue confusing? Or is it okay, in which case I will simply drown myself under video game content and memes. Thanks!**


	3. Scientific Credibility

**A/N: Been away a bit, busy on some other writing stuffthingz(new word?), and an unhealthy amount of games.**

 **If you haven't noticed, I have rewritten the previous two chapters and changed some plot elements and characters in them, so you guys might want to reread those, the story has changed a little bit. I had a lot of past/present tense issues that I had to clean up, and I decided to strengthen the story in places where it felt(to me) a bit weak. Also, from this chapter on out, I will be using addendums, particularly to help flesh out the Federation side of things, because they're not exactly a faction of any existent sci-fi franchise(this includes Star Trek, although the Federation of Planets is an inspiration for the civvy side of life), and I may or may not be making up the details for the faction as I go along.**

 **Areadbhair – Thank you! I really appreciate your words, especially about the in-world dialogue of this story. I've taken a little longer to get this chapter out than I did the previous one, but hopefully the wait was worth it for you(and other readers). I put a fair amount of effort into those conversations( & I'm pretty lazy), so they are still similar to the old in this fancy new rework of _All Fun And Games_.**

 **Hope you guys will like v1.1, and accept this shiny new chapter into the fold as well.**

Noon on a planet far away from the cleansing light of Holy Terra(if a couple thousand years and a dimension in between counted), two billion men and women went about their day, and one of them walked into a sandwich shop.

The businessman stated what he wanted, tapped his phone to the terminal to pay, and backed off so another customer could order. His phone buzzed for a moment, getting his attention. A new article from the _Galactic Science Journal_! (1) They always took so long to post updates.

He opened it to the title of 'Hybera History: Claim To Fame Or A Fraud?' Hmm, sounded interesting enough.

 _In recent releases of the_ Galactic Science Journal _, we have followed the incredible work that Doctor Hammond and his team have been doing on the planet of Hybera II regarding ancient galactic history in great detail, and with great excitement and anticipation we have waited for more details of the man's work._

 _It is with great regret that we, the writers and editors of the_ Galactic Science Journal _, inform you, the reader that Doctor Hammond and his research is now under investigation by a council of his peers, under suspicion of fabrication of evidence for his work and psychological instability._

 _If you've missed some of the previous installments of the_ Journal _, Doctor Everett Hammond and his team of fellow researchers and archaeologists discovered a series of ancient ruins buried below the surface of Hybera II merely a year ago. Before this discovery, Hybera II was, in all honesty, a low-priority planet that was only noteworthy for its relative beauty and a few small settlements of humans, producing few minerals and possessing little infrastructure for any usage._

 _But all that changed once Doctor Hammond, under a grant from the University Of New New New New York, landed on Hybera II, with his game-changing theory that the Federation was not the first major galactic polity in the Milky Way, an idea which had never been taken seriously by scientists and historians in the Federation due to the lack of any conclusive evidence for such. Doctor Everett reported that he had dug up the remnants of a major population center, and which appeared to have relied upon technologies and sciences well beyond our own capability and knowledge. Hybera II became more important to those watching him, and money and machinery was brought in to assist the research effort._

 _A few months later, Dr. Hammond and his fellows released a paper stating that they had recovered significant amounts of art in a language which could not be translated properly, but which suggested that there had once been a galaxy-encompassing empire lead by 'Ancients' and which was composed primarily of the 'Elder' and another, unnamed, extremely technologically advanced race of humanoids. The reign of this unknown empire ended in what could only be described as an 'ascension,' according to Doctor Hammond. His paper suggested that this previous superpower may have had a hand in the evolution of the current races in the galaxy, including humanity itself, and that the previously-mentioned 'unnamed race' may have been the precursors to the Engineers we know today, due to similarities in the depiction between the two, like their extensive usage of what human pop culture has consistently termed 'liquid metal'._

 _However, recent times have cast a dubious light upon Dr. Hammond's work, which has been described as standing upon questionable evidence and having dubious reasoning behind it. Indeed, in response to the question, "How did you find all this?", Dr. Hammond's response was, "I just knew." He added, "I felt like there was something guiding me to all this, like I was meant to find it all."_

 _Others have asked, considering that none of the technologies unearthed and shown as evidence were consistent in design or function, or even remotely correlated to our current understanding of the proven laws of physics, that perhaps they may have been pieces of junk designed to fool viewers into thinking that they were anything more than rearranged trash._

 _Also notable is how Hybera II has been visited many times in the past by Dr. Hammond, beginning decades before his public research began._

 _Neither Doctor Hammond, his staff, or, indeed, anyone on Hybera II could be contacted for comment. However, his last public statement was, "I'll find undeniable evidence for you people."_

"Number 173! Number 173! Your order is ready!"

The businessman realized that they had finished his order, and he put away his phone.

* * *

Onboard the _Nazareth_ -class station _Your Call Is On Hold_ , there was a feeling of peace and tranquility that would likely seem out of place to an unprepared visitor, because a kilometers-wide battle station (2) designed to subjugate entire raider flotillas and beat down heavy naval elements is generally not what the people of most sentient races consider relaxing.

But despite any differing assumptions, it was peaceful. The normally harsh internal lighting of the mighty guardian was toned down, to simulate Terran day-night cycles, and most of its 400-strong crew and the garrison of Guard soldiers were asleep or relaxing using the(to its crew) limited on board facilities.

It helped that the Hybera system was a quiet and unassuming star system, with a planet with nothing useful on it orbiting a dying star and a few pieces of debris floating around. If one looked more closely, he or she(or it, or the 45 other genders) might find a few bits of mining equipment, a cozy facility for a recent influx of archaeologists and scientists, and a starspace beacon which was there to keep communications online and give short-ranged craft a rest stop for the longer trips.

Seriously, who could possibly care about such an unimportant system? The operational destination for _Your Call Is On Hold_ was the Steuben system, which with its high populations and material resources was much more important than the little backwater that was Hybera. All the station had to do was wait for the arrival of defense platform _Teh Mighty Buckler_ and it would be authorized for its jump.

So with the exception of the extensive sensor suites and accompanying weapons packages, _Your Call Is On Hold_ was being really calm about being dumped in a new and completely unfamiliar galaxy.

* * *

The expedition was going swimmingly. The Craftworld had only been able to spare the Aurora-class light cruiser _Free Fall_ and a pair of frigates (3), but _Free Fall_ 's Captain Mezzanin showed signs of great potential and the two smaller ships were exceedingly well-kept and well-armed.

That fact, combined with visions that suggested that nothing particularly disastrous would happen, was enough reassurance for veteran Autarch Zella Mellis(full title much longer). However, it seemed that the more insecure members of her war host were getting a tad bit antsy over the long travel time.

Therefore, she knew exactly what she was getting into when one of the soldiers finally turned towards her with a bored, questioning expression on his face. She stared back, eyebrow raised. The soldier asked his question.

"Autarch Mellis, are we there yet?"

By the gods, was this what more than 60 million years of culture and evolution produced? Fourth time she'd been asked that question, and every time it had that exact same wheedling tone and cheek sitting on a outstretched palm. Once they got wherever they were supposed to be going to, she was going to have to _RIP_ and _TEAR_ a _lot_ of mon-keigh creatures apart, because BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD - oh, wrong catchphrase - for Kaela Mensha Khaine!

Yeah, that didn't sound like the war cry of a couple of psychotic cultists and genetic abominations.

"We are almost there, it will not be much longer now."

One way or another, it wouldn't be much longer.

"All right."

This lowly soldier was completely ignorant of her inner struggle! What an imbecile! He had to be educated about that! Wait, maybe she should redirect her anger at the mon-keigh she was about to raise hell with. But, but, she was angry NOW!

As her grip on a shuriken pistol and dagger tightened, someone else (cautiously) tapped her on the shoulder.

"Honored Autarch-"

Mellis spun around almost instantly, glaring at her new visitor with the force of an Archon scorned. Having done that once in her past, she knew just how childishly her darker cousins reacted to insults. Unfortunately, her angry glare was essentially a pout with anger in her eyes, so it was more counter-intuitive than she knew(no one, not even Elvrad, dared say this to her face). The bonesinger continued with his message, suddenly struggling not to giggle or laugh instead of fighting the urge to run.

"We are about to exit the Webway. Your presence is requested at the bridge."

She nodded furiously, glad for some conversation not involving 'Are we there yet?', which she was getting quite tired of.

* * *

"Exiting the webgate in three..."

"Two..."

"One..."

No one dared breathe for a full second.

" _Free Fall_ is in the clear, I repeat, _Free Fall_ is in the clear."

The breathing resumed.

"Well done. Now let's get away from the exit so the other two can join us. Captain Mezzanin?"

"Yes ma'am. Accelerating at low power, charging holo-fields."

There was a moment of silence.

" _Khaine's Lance_ has joined us... So has the _Vengeance Of The Empire_. Orders, Captain?"

There was no time wasted before an answer was given.

"As soon as the holo-fields are ready, power up all weapons. The _Khaine's Lance_ and _Vengeance Of The Empire_ shall take up positions on the left and right sides of our ship, respectively, and we will scout out this area before continuing. Avoid contact if possible."

A youthful pilot piped up then.

"On it sir. But is that a mon-keigh structure on the screen?"

Another moment of silence, as a crew member zoomed in on the image.

"Why, indeed it is. Clunky, inelegant architecture that looks like a child took a handful of blocks and mashed them together, who else could it be?"

A lot of smiles and laughter followed that statement, but like all good things, it came to an end.

"But I don't recognize the markings, they're not those of the Great Enemy, nor are they of the myriad Imperial factions, and they're definitely not Tau. Farseer Lileneth, do you have an opinion?"

"I'm not sure. The visions I was shown led me to believe that the humans would be Imperial in origin, yet the... spacecraft... before us certainly doesn't belong to the domain of the Corpse-Emperor. We should skirt around that object and head for the planet, we shouldn't be detected. Leave scouting duties to one of the frigates, we need to get down to that planet's surface. I suppose this goes without saying, but proceed with caution."

The Warlock on the ship took up the discussion.

"Well, Autarch Mellis?"

There was a muffled 'mmhmm?' from the figure right next to him.

"Are the troops ready for action? I do not sense any presence of the Enemy(emphasis on the E), but your soldiers may encounter mon-keigh resistance, which we do not know the strength of. Could be nothing, could be an entire Space Marine chapter."

"You have to ask? Yes, they are prepared for whatever could be thrown at them. And if there are a lot of mon-keigh to take care of, the better. The more, the merrier, right?"

"No one would doubt you, Autarch-"

Elvrad caught the 'Oh, really?' expression from his sister, and hastily rephrased the rest of his sentence.

"... but the success of this mission lies heavily upon your shoulders."

Inside of the Autarch, it took an awful lot of willpower not to pout, snicker, or do some other immature action in response. She kept a straight face.

"You Seers worry too much about the future. We shall be fine."

* * *

"Hey Captain. You seeing this? Random-ass burst of energy out there. Signature sorta looks like that of a starspace exit, but it's different."

There was a flurry of movement before the charts in question showed up on the main holodisplay.

"Huh. That's strange. Report it to Navy command, then switch to full active scanning once you're done with it. If it's some sort of spaceship, we might need bigger guns."

There was the unspoken 'protocol demands we do the former anyways, the brass hungers for reports,' as well as 'we are either all getting promotions, or we're all going to be dead by the end of this'.

"Command says ETA for the entire fecking Epsilon fleet is about 15 minutes. You're free to talk to or shoot anything in the system until then, as long as we hold a defensive position over Hybera II."

"The entire Epsilon... Jesus, the higher-ups are taking this seriously. There's something we don't know, isn't there?"

"Probably, ma'am."

"Haven't I told you to refer to me as sir, not ma'am?"

"Yes ma-"

The captain coughed.

"Sir."

"That's better."

* * *

"Captain? The gravitic lenses are showing some weird returns. Looks like three ships, but they're constantly distorting. Like... they're trying to hide from us."

"I'm listening, Chuck. Look at those vectors, they're either moving towards us or they're heading for the planet. Crap. Watson (4), how much longer till our fleet arrives?"

A flat voice responded.

"Remaining time to arrival is six and a half minutes. And to correct your previous statement, if those ships continue on their current path, they will collide with Hybera II."

"They plan to land there? Why? There's nothing important there. Are the weapons powered and functioning?"

"Of course, we never turn them off. Should we-"

Suddenly, twelve new dots showed up on the displays, each momentarily a light gray before Watson matched their identification codes to ones in the database and turned their colors to apple green.

"Sir, communications inbound. It's from the flagship of Epsilon, _Unity's Edge_. Vice Admiral Carson wants to speak with you."

"Put him on. Make sure the channel's encrypted."

A quiet beep signified the successful connection. A smiling officer in perfectly pressed regulation uniform greeted them.

"Captain Lockhart, good relative morning! Now, what's the situation here?"

* * *

"Farseer?"

"Yes?"

Captain Mezzanin's face was dark, with concern scrawled across it.

"The mon-keigh have detected us. They scanned our ships' impressions on the fabric of space. Where they picked up such technology is beyond me."

Lileneth looked a little startled for a moment, then recovered turning towards her friend and tactician.

"Mellis?"

"Yes, Farseer?"

"Can we get the force down on the shuttles? If we can, the ships will delay any support the mon-keigh can send and jam their communications with the inhabitants of this planet to buy us time."

The Autarch smiled.

"Absolutely. Whatever it takes."

Turning to everyone else, the youngest Seer in Vel'tan's history spoke.

"Good. Brother, you will stay on the ship and stall for us while Autarch Mellis and I head planetside to clarify my visions, and if I have to, act on them."

Warlock Elvrad didn't look very happy at that.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'stall'? Shall our ships be engaging in combat with the mon-keigh?"

The wink and grin his sister sent his way chilled his heart to the core.

"Why, just talk to them. That can't be hard, can it?"

* * *

Vice Admiral Carson tapped the microphone in front of him.

"Testing, testing. Ah, looks like it works. Well, let's get this over with. Broadcast this across the spectrum, would you kindly, Nikolai?"

A red dot and the word 'Transmitting' appeared on his screen, and he started his message.

"To the three spacecraft bound for Hybera II: This is a prerecorded message I, Vice Admiral Michael Carson am transmitting across all channels on behalf of the Federation Navy. You are trespassing on a Federation system with unknown intent..."

* * *

"...This message repeats."

The hologram went blank for a third of a second, then began anew.

Over the noise, Elvrad waved his hand dismissively.

"Stop, stop, that is the third time it's played, I don't think there's anything we missed in there."

"Thank the Gods, the third time was three times too much."

The chatter emanating from the display cut off, replaced with a blessed silence.

"So, um, Captain. Do the shuttles have the capacity to communicate with us? They're already pretty far away from us, but are they aware about this new development?"

Captain Mezzanin, instead of nodding like the Warlock hoped, shook his head.

"The shuttles are equipped with the necessary equipment for short-ranged vox communications, but they don't have the capacity for projecting psychic calls. At this range, we can't reach them, and odds are they didn't pick up this 'Federation's' call to the table either."

"Wait, this is Vel'tan we're talking about, not some bellicose, war-bent Craftworld that doesn't know what a Farseer is! Why do the shuttles not have basic psychic transmitting and receiving equipment?"

The last question was asked in a raised tone, almost to the point of shouting, but the captain of _Free Fall_ just shrugged.

"Budget cuts, commander, budget cuts."

The lull in the conversation didn't last long.

"What? Th-that doesn't even make sense!"

"If it's any consolation, I strongly doubt that the shuttles themselves have been detected by our new host's fleet, so the mission is not yet compromised."

Elvrad took a breather.

"I'll look into this budget thing later. Their comm tech worked with ours, so I presume we can get their attention. So since we seem to be out of choices better than dying, and dying would not be acceptable, try opening a channel with that Vice Admiral mon-keigh. He's likely the highest ranked one of them out here."

* * *

On Hybera II, none of the drama and bouts of miscommunication were noticed by the busy scientists and workers excavating the ruins. Life was proceeding at its normal, boring pace. One man thought, 'a little excitement around here would really spice things up. What could it hurt?'

Then he spotted the four non-human shuttles(definitely not birds) cutting through the dreary, dusty sky, with one of the shuttles blowing apart a small cache of supplies with a beam weapon(for dramatic effect), and speed towards the central dig site.

He immediately regretted his previous thought, then reached for his plasma pistol (*5) and his radio.

"This is security officer Cole Saske. Is Doctor Hammond there?"

He paused, then got a positive answer.

"Tell him we've got visitors, and they aren't here for a friendly chat over tea."

Putting down the radio, Saske wondered why on Terra he had chosen to go into private security after having spent nearly 300 years as a Federation Guardsman killing stuff.

* * *

Doctor Everett Hammond, in the meantime, was less aware of what was bearing down on him than he should have been as a learned, intelligent living being. Carefully brushing away at what appeared to be the activation plate for a very dusty blast door, he didn't notice how long it was taking for his assistant to come back with the tools he'd asked for, nor did he notice the group of armored warriors walk up behind him(to be fair, they were quiet).

When something cold and round bumped against the back of his head, he did notice. He kept cleaning the strange material, though, he was so close to uncovering the culmination of all his hard work. His work would be vindicated, and his honesty proven.

"Thank God. Maria, is that you? Took you long-"

Huh. Whatever was at the back of his head felt suspiciously similar to that of a gun, and he didn't resist when a hand was laid on his shoulder and slowly turned him around to face his new captors. Twenty Guardians, five Howling Banshees, an Autarch, and a Farseer all stood in a huge, cluttered chamber. Dr. Hammond had no idea who they were.

"That is some terrible fashion sense you have there, Mister-"

Then he caught on to the fact that saying such a thing to the people who were checking his work wasn't a good idea, and then it occurred to him that the strangely dressed people in front of him probably weren't there to examine his scientific credibility. An elaborately-dressed woman(the leader?) spoke to him, the voice unnatural to his ears.

"Move away from the door, mon-keigh. I will not repeat myself."

These people had guns, and blades too it seemed, but had the tall lady just called him an undeveloped primate? He couldn't just let these people walk all over him and his dignity! He raised his hands in a placating manner.

"Now hold on a second, there's no-"

His speech capabilities were quickly curtailed by the sudden assault on his family jewels by a Dire Avenger's knee. A strangled sound managed to escape his lips before he collapsed against the floor, revealing the opening mechanism he covered while standing.

While the Dire Avenger who had caused him a great deal of pain kept a gun trained on his bright red face, the Autarch walked past him, not even giving the human the benefit of a disdainful glance. She asked something in some weird, musical babble, but the question wasn't directed at him.

"Farseer Lileneth, I am praying to the Gods right now that we are not found wanting. May I open the door?"

"Sure. The more time we waste here, the more likely it is that something horrible happens to us."

Panels of sculpted art slid aside into the hulking frames, revealing the featureless, matte white door that sat behind all of it, and which looked positively intimidating in its size. The door had been set in its position long ago, well before humanity decided there were some limited mining prospects and halfheartedly attempted colonization of the dusty planet.

Yet it shot up almost silently, only a quiet whoosh of air accompanying its activation. Such are the miracles of space elf engineering.

The homely atmosphere, and the out-of-focus figure of a cheery Eldar man in robes waving animatedly at them all weren't what anyone expected to see.

"Hey, Doctor Hammond, you figured out the messages I was sending you! It is a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. And you found some relics of my people as well, it seems."

A few of the Guardians raised their weapons at the strange scene before them.

"Wait, this facility didn't have any soldiers. And I'm the last Eldar in the entire galaxy! Unless – oh my, that's concerning."

Autarch Mellis quietly spoke into her mic. She didn't take her eyes off the suspiciously suspicious(with emphasis on suspicious) Eldar who apparently knew the one mon-keigh in the room, who was staring back with shock and a glint of (confused) recognition in his eyes.

"Farseer, do you have any idea about what's going on?"

Her leader answered back in the negative.

"No, I have no idea what's going on right now."

"That is encouraging to know."

"Don't make this difficult. There is no taint of She-Who-Thirsts here, and we may have something that could save our people."

"That is a great thing to hear."

* * *

" **Oi, Boss! I dink we'z where we'z woz goin' earlier!** "

His metal-dome head was promptly slapped on the back by a much bigger Ork.

" **Stop usin' dose big wurdz, will ya' Dakkawiz? Dey'z annoyin' ta da' rest of us.** "

Another Ork dared cut in on the boss.

" **Boss! We'z got uninvy-oninvi-unwante' guestz on da' ship! In-flight enturtainmunt, kurtesy o' Spirit Airlines! Apparuntlee dey'z be demuhnz to foight!** "

With the hand that wasn't a humongous Power Klaw, the Warboss swatted at the little green thing in front of him.

" **Nobody interruptz da' Warboss! Da' Warboss iz me, if ya' kan't tell! And... daemunhz sounz' gud ta' me.** "

* * *

 **The Provisional Multi-Purpose Codex.**

Where the long, dry explanations of obscure references go. Any notations that belong here will have a '*' before its number.

 **(*1.)** Sharing the news of progress since the year 7496.

 **(*2.)** A Nazareth-class orbital station's radius is typically about 2 kilometers, from maneuvering thruster to center. However, each Nazareth-class station is composed of three spires pointing away from a central core that is only about 500 meters in diameter itself, so these stations actually aren't very large in volume. The cylindrical structure housing the primary power generators, the bridge, crew quarters, a pair of Class VI weapon mountings, and an optional addition for a small garrison of soldiers. Each 'spire' mounts a single Class IV weapon at its tip, landing bays capable of containing a few shuttles each, sensor arrays, and maneuvering thrusters large enough to be the main engines of smaller spacecraft.

Due to their firepower, ease of production, and high mobility, Nazareth-class stations are often found defending systems that are valuable to the Federation, but not important enough to warrant tying up more valuable assets or deploying a Navy fleet.

 **(*3.)** The Hellebore-class _Khaine's Lance_ and the Aconite-class _Vengeance Of The_ Empire are referred to here. Craftworld Vel'tan actually could have provided more ships, as most of its fleet had survived intact since its uneventful return to realspace in the mid-41st millennium, but a training run for a fledgling Farseer was not considered to be worth a large investment.

 **(*4)** Watson is the nickname that most Navy crews use for 'augmented intelligence personalities' on board Federation Navy vessels. Augment intelligence personalities replaced the deployment of proper artificial intelligence programs aboard all space-faring vessels in the early fourth millennium, when a high proportion of active artificial intelligences went haywire and killed huge numbers of both civilians and military personnel. To honor their predecessors, many 'AIPs' were given the name 'Watson', one of the earliest multipurpose AIs in human history.

As losses whittled down the small surviving population of artificial intelligence, AI in its original form went, for lack of a better word, 'extinct'.

Augmented intelligence personalities are easily confused as AI to those particularly uninformed, but whereas many AIs enacted their own orders and had significant freedom to interpret ideas and information, AIPs are in the role of advisers and assistants in the running of a ship, like maintaining logs and giving tactical advice. Another important distinction is that for any actions of remote complexity, the plans to be enacted must be reviewed(if only lightly) by the person(s) it reports to, and authorized(even if it's only a quiet 'yes') by said person. Only in extreme situations can AIPs take direct control of the critical functions of a ship, such as when the majority of the crew is dead or unconscious.

The short answer to the question, 'So what the hell is an augmented intelligence personality?' is that they are AIs conveniently renamed to be presentable to the general public, with a few extra fail-safes thrown in.

 **(*5)** The weapon referred to as a 'plasma pistol' is not, in fact, a plasma pistol. The uncommon LPA12 Select Fire Pistol would be better described as a particle accelerator weapon, because nowhere in its operation is plasma actually involved, but ancient science fiction franchises like Star Wars popularized the incorrect term in popular culture. Coincidentally, 'plasma gun' rolls off the tongue much more smoothly than 'Lightweight Particle Accelerator,' which is what 'LPA' stands for.

The LPA12, like all LPA weapons, can fire from any StAndardized Particulate Ammunition Container(SAPAC) sitting in its magazine well, but it is normally used with the Reduced-Capacity Forward Grip(RCFG; the Federation loves its acronyms) variant, which allows the pistol to easily fit within larger pistol holsters. As the name suggests, the compact magazine is shaped like a pistol grip, and empties faster than the Standard Capacity variant does.

Magazines are loaded in front of the trigger guard, instead of inside the handle, like with most stub pistols. Due to the forward placement of the weapon's magazines, the LPA12 is much larger than other pistols, nor does it strongly resemble its more conservative brethren when loaded.

Because the LPA12 has no stock, and can be holstered, it's classified as a 'heavy handgun,' a status that is highly debatable.

 **Welp, that's the third chapter of this MLG multi-character quest! This one's gone pretty slowly, but I tried to push the plot faster here and it felt rushed and not very good to me, so I instead dedicated a whole chapter to another purpose. Hopefully you guys won't mind that too much(over the rewrite), and I hope I didn't leave anyone waiting for way too long. I know I took a while.**

 **Also, does anyone know the typical engagement range of capital ships in 40K? I know that in Battlefleet Gothic: Armada normal weapons(like macro-batteries) can be set to engage targets anywhere between 3,000 and 12,000 kilometers, but I've seen in some WH fiction naval weapon ranges as far as hundreds of thousands of kilometers. My poor mind is kunfoozed about this topic.**

 **As always please leave a review, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this so far. Thanks.**


	4. Magic Confetti

**A/N: Oh my, it's been almost two months. Hello fellow humans. I almost finished with this chapter weeks ago, but then my desktop went RIP in pepperoni, so I had to rewrite this from scratch. I re-organized the previous chapter, 'Scientific Credibility', although it doesn't change any plot points or anything. In apology for my dropping off the face of Holy Terra though, me and my collaborating/enslaved(help) editor also have a fifth chapter for all you guys to read. That's two chapters in one upload! :D**

 **Areadbhair: A lot of very good points. I did finish the end of chapter 3 right after a horrific amount of spawncamping, so I do have an excuse for that. I have definitely tried to make the transitions between scenes in that chapter a bit more smooth and justified as well. With the notes, I've put them at the end(in a codex of random things). Thanks for the advice, and I hope these two chapters were worth the wait as well.**

 **As always, I don't own anything here, it all belongs to the owners of Warhammer 40,000. Also, 'tis be my first attempt at writing fiction in general, so it's definitely not the greatest.**

Beneath Hybera II, the Eldar had crowded themselves into the front room, with Doctor Hammond looking miserable, sitting by the entrance and shooting fearful glances at his captors.

"Um, hello? It's been a while since I've talked face-to-face with my kind."

Nobody answered. Seeing the general unwillingness to talk, the radiant Eldar tried again.

"Well, my name is Belezan Hael, and I am the caretaker of this facility and the knowledge it protects. Within this place is the history of the Eldar, and some of the technologies and cultural artifacts we have produced."

Well, he broke the ice in a suitably civil manner, so Farseer Lileneth reciprocated. In Eldar, of course, so the one human in the room wouldn't understand anything.

"I am Farseer Lileneth Varsen, and my companion is Autarch Zella Mellis. All of us here are of Craftworld Vel'tan, sent to investigate this new region of space on the visions that my father, Honorable Farseer Elvrad Varsen, received not long ago. The skeins told us that events of great import would be set into motion here."

"Craftworld Vel'tan? Never heard of it. Hey, just asking, I broke my timepiece on the floor a while back, so I don't know what year it is. Could you tell me?"

The body language of nearly every single person in the room stiffened. Lileneth kept her feelings behind her mask.

"Well, it is currently M42.271, if you use the standard Imperial units of time, which I must remind you are crude. Are you certain you have never encountered Craftworld Vel'tan before? Perhaps you have met the Craftworld of Ulthwe, or Iyanden?"

"That's... no, I have never heard of any 'Craftworlds'. Also, what do you think you're saying by 'crude', that their creators are crude as well? The teachings of the Old Ones say that lack of exterior perfection does not mean 'crude'. Oh, I have to ask something."

'Belezan Hael' switched to Low Gothic, ignorant of the expressions of the Eldar hidden behind their armor.

"Hey dude, the year is 9964, right? That means it's the ninth millennium, year 964?"

The scientist groaned with wounded pride.

"Yes, of course it is. I told you that in my dreams, didn't I?"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout the circumstances we have to meet under."

"It's fine, my good sir. As long as I get out of this alive with my career intact, I'll be happy."

Belezan returned to the Eldar lexicon.

"We do not have much time, so as the humans like to say it, I shall make this quick. The Eldar were created by the Old Ones, then raised to spread our combined influence across the galaxy, allying with about half a dozen other races in the process. Then there was a short war with the Necrontyr, which ended in a peace treaty (1). Afterwards the Eldar, along with our allies and our makers, ascended to the realm of the Aether in order to ensure its continued separation from reality. Does anything that I'm saying make sense to you guys?"

Lileneth took off her helm, choking down her own revulsion in the process. What kind of Eldar sympathized with inferior beings? And the scholar seemed to consider the Necrontyr an ally? Was he high?

"That is incredibly far off from our own recorded history. The Necrons have always been our enemies, and our creators have long been driven to extinction by abominations from beyond the Veil."

Belezan slowly turned back to Dr. Hammond, the mirth gone from his face.

"Doctor, I don't think we're in the same universe anymore."

"Took you long enough to figure that out."

* * *

"So, would you please enlighten us as to the purpose of your visit?"

"Perhaps. We are here to protect the interests of our people."

The three Eldar ships moved closer to Hybera II.

"If it's not too much to ask, would you mind backing away from the planet?"

"Likely not, mon-keigh. We are simply taking the necessary steps to ensure our people's safety."

The mon-keigh navy commander's face remained neutral, like he was expecting such an answer.

"What would you consider necessary steps at the moment then, Warlock Varsen?"

"The Eldar are here merely to get to know our new neighbors."

The Federation fleet sped up. Those ships, while small, all had a respectable power-to-mass ratio for mon-keigh designs. Which brought up the question of what their limits were, if these humans actually understood that size didn't always correlate with strength. Elvrad continued that line of thought as the Vice Admiral gave voice to another one of a seemingly endless stream of questions.

"You do realize that policy requires us to use force in situations like these?"

"We mean no harm, mon-keigh. Everything will be just fine."

The 'Vice Admiral' stared distractedly at something off-screen, before his eyes refocused on the Seer.

"Why do you keep calling us mon-keigh?"

"It is a compliment, and an old habit."

* * *

Blackstar (2) Operator Cole Saske looked both ways before crossing the dirt 'street' to the shed housing the backup off-world telecommunications equipment, and for good reason. Upon seeing the numbers and violent stances of the mysterious attackers, the plan of blasting away the bad guys was no longer an option.

It had taken him time to sneak about, but he had gotten his hands on the secondary security system recordings. Thankfully, the aliens had been too busy rounding up the camp staff to note the innocuous plasteel shed and its tiny antenna sitting in a corner of the excavation camp.

On the other hand, all that Saske had to accompany him was the omnipresent, quiet howl of the wind, which creeped out the veteran to no end.

Scanning his hand on the lock and entering the cramped structure, Saske breathed a sigh of relief and turned on the electronics. However well trained these pirates were, they had missed him, the one man who could sound the alarm and who held in his calloused hands the security network recordings.

Heh, 'the one man'. As if he wasn't some bitter old mercenary who couldn't afford the rejuvenat treatments that everyone else could.

Help was on the way.

* * *

"Thank you, Warlock Varsen. High Command has given orders that if an accord cannot be reached, force must be used to secure the safety of our citizenry."

The Warlock showed his first sign of emotion, snorting at the warning.

"Well, thank you for being so polite, Vice Admiral. We may heed your courtesy at some other point in time."

Carson cut the feed, the scowl on his face the last thing sent over the antennas.

"Sir! We have a stream from Hybera II, adding you in now."

" - Look, listen to me! There are people being kidnapped, and I can't stop them all! We need – oh feck they're here!"

The security guard fell off-screen and the sound of an LPA weapon being fired could be heard.

++Signal lost++

Staring at the two words, Michael Carson's last reserves of patience died out.

"Tell Captain Lockhart that _Your Call Is On Hold_ needs to be ready for combat, and have her boys interface the station's sensors with ours. First contact's gone south."

* * *

"Captain Mezzanin, we are outnumbered and if the runes are true, there shall be a storm of death freed upon us all."

"Elvrad, stating the obvious only makes you look like a mon-keigh."

Both leaders still stood upon the bridge deck of _Free Fall_ , an uncharacteristically concerned, un-dickish look sitting on the face of Warlock Elvrad.

"No, I just needed to tell myself that. This is now a retrieval mission, with the survival of this ship and the shuttles that are returning being of utmost priority. The Farseer and Autarch must live at all costs, and time is of the essence. Might your fellow Eldar back out now?"

"We know our duty. None shall fail you, nor shall they fail your loved ones."

A smile appeared on the Warlock's face.

"More tally marks, I suppose?"

A slightly bloodthirsty grin on Captain Mezzanin's face was the answer.

* * *

Four shuttles exited the atmosphere of Hybera II and entered the bay of _Free_ Fall in single file, carrying a Vel'tan warhost and three very unenthusiastic passengers with them.

"Saske, as the research team's security officer, you were supposed to keep us safe."

"I know, I know, you don't have to remind me. Help is on the way, we just gotta sit tight."

"Can I interrupt? These cuffs are extremely uncomfortable. Could one of you fellows please loosen them?"

"Shut up, Mr. Hael, please. You casually mentioned what I was doing to your new friends, and screwed up our best chance for staying alive, you useless fecking idiot."

"Was that called for, Cole?"

"Perhaps not. Sorry. You're right, these cuffs really are quite tight for a group of three old men."

"I am not, in fact, that old for a non-physical entity. Please do not assume another person's age - "

Their overseer finally snapped.

"Everyone back there, would you stop your whining? Especially you, Mister Belezen Hael."

"Sorry Autarch Mellis."

* * *

In the Warp, daemons abounded, going about their innocent business and eating souls when they could, just like bankers and lawyers did in the Materium. Yet for the forces of Waaagh Warmakah, a horde of daemons to kill was hardly enough to break the ennui of Warp travel.

" **Boss! All da' daemunhz b' ded! Nex' time, we betta' not b' takin' Spirit Airlines agin, dey'z skimp on da' fun!** "

" **Shaddup ya' git! We'z 'bout ta' git ah foight roight nao! I'z kan feel it in ma' blud! Dakkawiz, git uz ouddah 'ere, wudya?** "

" **Yah Boss, I'z on it righ' now! Fer Gork an' Mork!** "

" **Le'z kill 'em all! We'z gunna make Mork an' Gork proud taday!** "

" **Waagh.** "

* * *

Pushing their engines to the maximum, fleet Delta Epsilon drove its way towards the much smaller Eldar fleet tiptoeing around the lone defense platform of Hybera II.

"Our ships are almost in range of the Eldar, Admiral. _Your Call Is On Hold_ is overlaying their data with ours, it should serve as an effective counter to their... countermeasures."

The cream and sky blue Eldar ships flickered and shimmered in and out of the visible spectrum, not presenting easy locks to artificial eyes. In the corner of the display that was part of the headset attached to Carson's head, three red dots appeared on a 2-D minimap, showing where their centers of mass were located.

"That's good to hear. Presley, back to your duties. Watson, is Kara also linked to the feed from the gravitic lenses?"

Presley sat back down at his console, doing whatever NPCs do when they're idle.

"Affirmative. All staff on the secondary bridge are receiving up-to-date information on the whereabouts of our targets. All actions have been logged within the data stacks as is protocol, and will continue to be logged until that is no longer possible. Best of luck, Vice Admiral."

"Thank you, Watson."

He decided to start getting strategy out of the way. First on the list? The one handling the weapons, of course.

"Contact Gunnery Officer Kara Romano."

There was an annoying beep, followed by Officer Kara's nearly as high-pitched voice.

"Sir?"

"You know what the plan is for dealing with high-mobility, hard-to-hit foes, right?"

"Yes sir, since - "

* * *

Orks have unique ways of dealing with boredom. To get through the doldrums, they fantasize about violence, breathe about violence, and of course, they practice violence.

And with the tearing of six new holes into reality, they had arrived.

* * *

Mr. Carson did not hear the rest of Kara's sentence, as he doubled over the command table's projections and silently screamed. His right hand scrabbled for an injector containing painkillers while his left pried open his shoulder port. When the drugs took effect, he stood back up, slightly shaking and unnoticed by everyone except his weapons officer.

"Sir? You there?"

Taking a few deep breaths, the fleet commander replied with little raggedness in his voice.

"My fault, I was distracted for a second. Recap please."

"We have several new hostiles calling themselves 'Orks', who just jumped in between the Eldar and us. They're two hundred thousand klicks from us right now, and their ships are packing heat, sir. I was asking if we have to hold our fire against these idiots or not."

"How do you know these guys are hostile already, Kara?"

"We started receiving death threats from, and I quote, 'da' mentulgen Warboss' within three seconds of their arrival. We're also getting transmissions about how their name is spelled, for some reason."

His comms officer cut in over the headset.

"Admiral, fleet command channel wants you in now."

"All right, I'll give you new orders in a moment, Kara. Switching to fleet command frequencies."

The first thing he heard was incredibly disheartening.

"You think that ship is big? Have you seen your mum?"

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

"Cegorach's jests are truly overrated. First human mon-keigh, now the Orks."

"Well, Elvrad, that may be because you have not gotten to know a Harlequin yet, or maybe you need to learn when they are joking."

"Have I told you about your own terrible sense of humor? What did you and Mellis learn on the surface?"

"I am fine, thank you for asking. We have three passengers we recovered from a camp of humans violating land previously belonging to the Eldar. However, this entire planet, as well as the many others which have recently appeared, are not from our dimension. The Eldar of this dimension followed a path of history completely divergent from ours."

Eldar were notoriously hard to surprise, and the Farseer almost felt proud for bringing out such emotions.

"Could you bring these three guests in, Lileneth?"

"They are already with us. Autarch Mellis has been listening to their excuses for conversation for the past five minutes or so."

The door to the room swung inwards. Into the observatory chamber entered his Autarch, one human in a white coat, another wearing some sort of carapace armor, and – a floating Eldar. Belezan Hael, his mind instantly knew. Zella looked angry – thankfully, no one had commented on the subtle hilarity of her red face. Hael seemed to have little skill reading body language, though.

"Am I allowed to speak again?"

"No. One more time, and this ship will grow an airlock just for you (3)."

"These are our sources of information? I hope everyone remembers the greenskins are only a few thousand kilometers away from us."

The Orks had started shooting, but they were too far away to be a danger yet.

"All right."

Farseer Lileneth had decided to take the initiative, a few runestones lazily floating above her hand.

"If these Orks are such a problem, then we shall work with the mon-keigh to defeat them. They have yet to meet me or Autarch Mellis, so perhaps we may be able to justify our actions with a straightforward explanation, something which the skeins suggest may give us a chance at $$$PROFIT$$$."

Magic confetti rained from the curved ceiling, then disappeared at a wave of Lileneth's hands.

"That sounds like a risky plan, Lileneth. Not to mention we may have to return the guests."

"I would say it is more than a little distasteful, but the skeins show this is the way out. A simple apology should do the job. You are welcome to suggest your own plan, although we cannot open a temporary Webway gate because they are undergoing repairs by our Bonesingers and attempting to fight our way out will simply end in our destruction."

"There must be some other - "

"No. This Federation is naive enough to be willing to ask first, and not stabbing them in the back is the only acceptable choice here. We cannot fail Vel'tan with defeat here, not now and not with a clear path to victory in sight."

* * *

"All right everyone, we split into two groups. Captain Harding, you bring your ship around the left of the Orks. _HL3 Confirmed_ , _Chibi Death Star_ , _Steel Guardian_ , _Censor Of Devon_ , and _Hammer Of Industry_ , go with him. Everyone else, stay with me. We're going to flank these bastards, and the Eldar owe us a lot more than just an explanation. For the Federation."

There was a quiet chorus of voices over the speakers, all pronouncing three words.

"For the Federation."

As Vice Admiral Carson stared extra-stoically at the table's holograms, Presley piped up.

"Sir? The Eldar are sending out a request for two-way communication to us."

"Amazing timing, as always."

* * *

Almost two minutes had passed.

"So you promise to give our two people and the Eldar historian back if we do not attack your ships and people, and if we allow you to tag along with our fleet?"

"Yes, mon-keigh."

"And you will give us information about the state of affairs of this galaxy? What do you have to support this agreement?"

"My word."

Carson listened to a few voices on the command channel, then shrugged.

"Works for me."

* * *

"The naivete of these mon-keigh rivals that of the Tau."

"I agree, Farseer."

There was a short pause which the Eldar, with their extreme sensitivity to social cues, felt as a good fraction of eternity. Lileneth decided it was long enough and found a sufficiently decent one-liner to end it.

"Well, let the dance begin."

* * *

"Let's hope we don't get shot in the back for this one, Admiral."

"Presley, trust me on this one, please? You didn't miss the part where she said 'profit,' did you?"

* * *

It had taken a full minute for Michael to realize just how large and ugly the Ork 'Warboss' ship was. His own pride, _Unity's Edge_ , was a five-kilometer, four-kilometer wide geometric war machine that was logged as an Herculean-class battleship. The Penn-class _Spear Of Arcadia_ (4), the lone heavy carrier of Fleet Delta Epsilon, was six kilometers long, longer than almost every other ship in the Navy. Then after asking Comms Officer Presley to check the sensors again for calibration, Michael realized that the _Gitbustah_ , or the _Mighty Gitbusta'_ , as the Orks had called it, was really eight-kilometers in length and used chemical propulsion to move itself along.

It was like a New China ship scrapyard had somehow taken flight and told to make weapons out of whatever could be found in the place.

* * *

Many sci-fi authors in the Silicon Age portrayed space combat as opposing ships pulling up to each other and unloading broadsides at ranges of just a few kilometers, or even a few hundred meters, in just a few seconds. When mankind reached the stars, naval warfare rarely ever involved such a direct approach or such short distances.

The Orks gave no shits about common sense, three ships splitting off towards the Eldar and the other three turning their gaping maws in the direction of the Federation vessels.

The second triplet had two Kroozers, one of which seemed to have a lot of space within, and the eight-kilometer Hammer-class Battlekroozer _Gitbustah_ , moving towards Carson's fleet. Not hesitating, the _Spear Of Arcadia_ instantly fired nearly all of its guns on the lead ship, which reduced the shields of the _Gitbustah_ by only 35 percent.

The Eldar, not as appetizing a fight, only had two small ships and one of the Kroozers after them. Carson had chastised his crew for setting up a betting pool as to when a blue-on-blue incident would be occurring with the aliens, after, of course, putting in a bet of three thousand credits himself.

The Primary and Secondary Navigators of the ship spoke into his headset, echoes following their speech. Carson shivered imperceptibly. The mind-linked pilots never sounded right to him.

"On course to designated point. Three hundred thousand kilometers from Targeted Asset _Free Fall_ , one point five hundred thousand and decreasing with Designated Hostiles."

Kara's voice, though still as high-pitched as ever, was a welcome reprieve.

"These Orks are within weapons range of our heavy weaponry now. Preparing to fire a standard missile salvo, and follow up with ionic lances, then all railguns and flashlights (5) in three, two, one."

At the press of a small blue button, four fifty-meter long self-guided missiles flew out of four launchers placed in various positions on _Unity's Edge_ , moving towards the enemy flagship.

The lead missile detonated prematurely against the shields in a splash of light, overloading the unstable projectors. The next two obliterated a port-side macrocannon battery on the giant ship, before the last one destroyed a small maneuvering thruster. The Orks still kept their guns shooting at the 'bait,' the _Spear Of Arcadia_ and its company, who were themselves taking advantage of the downed shields to land blows on the thick plating of the warship.

"Enemy hull integrity at 83%. Firing solution provided and confirmed for viability. Opening fire with all available guns."

With that order, massive turrets hundreds of meters wide drank deep on the output of equally massive generators, the only noises of their operation the clunking of automated ammunition loaders and hiss of coolant systems. Beams of light designed for lighter targets hit the exposed side of the Ork ship, only scraping off paint and melting small holes here and there. Railgun munitions had a more tangible effect, shining adamantium-tipped shells punching gaping holes in the armor and turning the bulkheads behind them into death traps with the clean explosions of fusion bombs.

It took the yellow glow of lance beams, massive versions of the particle-accelerator guns that Federation infantry used, almost an entire minute to reach their target even though they had been fired first. But the miniscule generators of an LPA rifle could never produce the energy required to make full use of particle-beam technology. Not even a main battle tank's fusion reactor could pull it off. To fling bolts that could shred flesh, melt and punch its way through hardened ceramite and bony chitin, that was easy. But to melt the insulated wiring of warships, to fry Swarm Fleet nerves? That took power, power that only the burning hearts of Federation warships were capable of producing and leashing to productive purposes.

One of the three streams of glowing metal zipped off into space, streaking right over the top of the _Gitbustah_. The next ate through the hull and burned away the existence of those it splashed upon. The third flew through the hole that a railgun had made, punched through a plascrete wall, and hit several bundles of electrical wiring being tended to by a Mekboy and his army of Grots.

Orkish combat technology (the only kind they had) knew no such things as safeguards. Electrified molten metal discharged terawatts of energy into the conduit, which was linked to another power conduit, which was connected directly to the ship's looted plasma drive, which pushed the Imperial device past its breaking point.

It vented a hundred cubic meters of plasma into the unsealed generatorium compartment, atomizing half the crew maintaining it and melting critical components beyond repair.

" **Woah! Boyz, ya see dat! I dink 'ah saw Gork 'imself roight now!** "

Reading off the gray table's charts, Carson realized that the enemy ship's integrity was down to 64%. Only 64%. Very calmly, he spoke into his headset.

"Great, we broke something important. But we are doing very little direct damage, Kara."

While lacking emotion and tone, the strained voice was mildly concerning to the master gunner.

"Well, it seems these guys build their ships tough. After all, they were shouting that this is a full Ork fleet, and there's not a single battleship in sight. I think their definitions of ship classes and ours are different."

"I think we're going to have to board the enemy ship's bridge to end this fight quickly then, wouldn't you agree?"

Somewhat shakily, Kara agreed.

"Sounds great."

"Charge up the main cannon. We're going to need some insurance."

* * *

 **Codex Of Random Things Continued**

 **(*1.)** According to interviews with historian Belazen Hael, the Old Ones successfully negotiated a peace accord with the Necrontyr approximately 59 million years before the current date. A permanent alliance was the result of this treaty, and the knowledge of ancient sciences were utilized to transcend the Necrontyr past the destructive genetic limitations their home system's radiation had imposed upon them. The 'Endless Golden Age,' as it is referred to by historical documents translated by Mr. Hael, ended in a mass migration of some kind, presumably to a different dimension, while the Necrontyr would monitor the development of their home galaxy for dangers and encourage specific traits in new species.

Knowledge on what happened to the Necrontyr, who christened themselves 'Necrons' after the end of the so-called 'War In Heaven,' is sparse after the sealing of Mister Hael's repository. No evidence has been found for their activities in the past 50,000 years, though the Nomad Engineers Guild, long-term allies of humanity, utilizes technologies similar in basis to those described in the Hybera II repository.

 **(*2.)** Blackstar Seas is a predominantly-human private military corporation which has been around since Terra was known as Earth and Luna was a ball of rock orbiting it. The original name has long since been forgotten after almost eight thousand years of bureaucracy.

 **(*3.)** It is not advised to replicate the circumstances under which this feat was first accomplished.

 **(*4.)** As of year 9964, Captain Harding had been in command of the _Spear Of Arcadia_ for 300 years, fighting Swarm Splinter Fleets and the like in service of the Federation Navy.

Penn-class ships are large, versatile heavy carriers, with five deployment zones (each zone being four launch bays) spaced across its port side and five more for its starboard side, for a total of ten deployment zones and a capacity for up to 200 LS-86 superiority fighter aircraft, although bombers and gunships reduce this number significantly. Armed with as many Class VI turrets as most battleships, they make for intimidating force projectors and massive drains on Federation resources. Due to the former and despite the latter, Penn-class supercarriers have become common sights in most Federation Navy Fleets since the first production run in year 8821.

 **(*5.)** Navy slang for Class IV, and Class V Lasgun Burst Turrets. The premise of these two-barreled weapons are simple. Together, a pair of high energy lasers mounted on a turret fire bursts of three to five shots, shredding weakened shields and starship armor with extreme accuracy. Cheap and reliable, these weapons can be found on everything from packs of escorts wreaking havoc on heavier ships' weapon emplacements to groupings on battleships supporting heavier weapons in a fight.

While weapons like Electromagnetic Kinetic Projectile Accelerators are not very effective against small craft and shuttles, Lasgun Turrets have a shot-to-kill rate of 0.72 at optimal ranges, and the multiple shots delivered per burst enable the destruction of several enemy strike craft in a single volley, making them popular long-range supplements to the point-defense systems of many ships.


	5. Veteran Benefits

**Quick edit A/N: I realized I goofed on some of the formatting of Chapter 4, and screwed up the name of the normal humie's spehssship fleet. Really dumb on my part. No other changes/updates, I still don't own anything related to Warhammer 40K as of the moment. However, I would like to ask that people stop making Areadbhair do all the hard work reviewing, itz makez meh kry everytiehm and commentary would really help make sure this fic stays on a path that doesn't make everyone break into bouts of nerd raege.**

 **By the way, this is the second half of the previous chapter, probly a good idea to read that first so it makes at least some sense.**

In a small room with bed and stand, stray light from a holo-emitter unit flickered onto the face of a woman deep in conversation with a man far away. Just one call in a million, although the safeguards were uniquely designed (1).

"Keep an eye out for the Vice Admiral, would you? His symptoms are very similar to those of others suffering what he's believed to be going through. Carson's assets have too much potential to be lost in the first week in another galaxy, and straining his mind too much will not end well for all of us."

"I copy, sir. He's not dying if I can help it."

"We are in a new ballgame, officer. New rules. Remember what you have to do. If he breaks, destroy his ID card after killing him."

"You just said that the Federation needs him alive. Him temporarily being in a vat is one thing, ensuring he stays dead directly contradicts your own orders. Are you sure about this?"

"Don't be coy, you know how this works. For the sake of mankind, life and soul."

"Life and soul."

Once the display shut off and the soft lighting of the room returned, the woman sighed, and got off her bed.

"Whatever the heck a soul is. Watson, forget you ever heard this conversation."

Walking back onto the main bridge, Chief Security Officer Eva Leen nodded curtly to Naval Vice Admiral Michael Carson, rising star of Federation Navy Fleet Delta Echo.

* * *

" **Boss! The humiez ah' finally in range of da' Zzap Kannonz! We'z ready ta fire on you'z command!** "

There was a dark, nearly sinister chuckle from the mound of brawn and brains that lead Waaagh Warmaker. His right hand rested over a big red button on his seat's armrest, and it promised untold power and satisfaction if he would just press his fist down. Not yet, though, not yet.

" **Wot'z ya gitz waiting fer den? SHOOT DEM HUMIEZ, OR I'LL HAVE YA FED TA DA' SQUIGZ, BOY!** "

The smaller Ork was terrified, and so were the rest of the crew in the throne room.

" **Ready da – READY DA KANNONZ!** "

Stolen capacitors and machinery came to life, and sooty tesla coils became clean, crackling with electricity. Looking at a helpful traffic light that showed the readiness of the weapons, the Warboss saw green.

" **FIRE!** "

Two arcs of lightning fire stretched from the nose of the _Gitbustah_ , out to the _Spear Of Arcadia_ , only eighty thousand kilometers away, before five more followed across the void.

* * *

The first shot was stopped by the Void Shields. The second dragged their stability down to 7%, before the third shattered the defenses. The fourth lightning strike scarred the carrier ship's hull, and the fifth landed on a Laser Repeater Turret, Size Class V, and locked up the rotation mechanisms. Crewmen scurried to fix the problem, which would take at least a few minutes even with their AIP's assistance. Carson passed orders to the carrier ship's crew.

"Crap, _Spear Of Arcadia_ , fall back now, you're too close! Deploy fighters to escort and harass pursuers and engage the lighter enemies instead, _Unity's Edge_ will move in for the kill."

Kara spoke through her mic next, as Captain Harding's ship fired its retrothrusters and released a handful of bombers and fighters to hit the Kill Kroozer flanking the bigger capital ship.

"Sir, I don't know if we can knock out all of those lightning guns in the next volley, sir. And our lasers don't have nearly as much effect as they should on their armor, should we cut power to the majority of those? Also, the main gun is fully charged now, waiting for your command."

A new plan took shape in Carson's mind. It could prove disastrous if it went wrong, but the Orks clearly had better endurance, never mind the fact that the Eldar were probably working overtime to ditch the area as quickly as they could. Time was not on their side, and a gamble could pay off in dividends here.

"Hold your fire Kara. Navigators, could you get us on a direct path? Close enough to, say, teleport a team onto their bridge, so eighty thousand klicks?"

There was a pause for a second. The fleet commander had no idea why he held his breath, there was no way he would be rejected.

"Yes."

"Your idea was sound. Redirecting excess power to the teleporters."

* * *

The Warboss saw the humiez' carrier ship running away like the Eldar, and it triggered him. He had just lost a ship and one of his lieutenants to the pointy-eared gitz, and the pinkskins seemed to think that he, the Gentleman Of Barozowitz, would accept defeat without compensation for himself.

His hand once again traced the outlines of his most prominent red button, installed for the purpose of firing his Dubowl Mega Kannonz at a press, while the other gently shook a glass of fungus beer. Leaning towards a metal tube, he sent a message to his right-hand Ork.

" **It'z time to break out da big gunz, Mekboy. I meanz da' real Kannonz, Dakkawiz.** "

The excitement of the mechanic was elevated to whole new levels.

* * *

The Executive Officer stopped his frantic movements for a second on the cramped, crowded secondary bridge deck of _Unity's Edge_ , and the sounds of someone talking with him could be heard over it all.

Then he looked _enraged_.

"Sir, with all due respect, why the feck are you boarding a ship just because you know they only have one command deck? Just because you're going to be with him, Eva, doesn't mean everything's going to be just fine!"

His headset warbled again.

"Making sure that 'the enemy is defeated quickly before it can do any harm' is a terrible excuse, sir."

Another pause.

"The crew has pretty low standards for swordsmanship, sir."

The XO laughed, a strangled sound that did not sound amused in the slightest.

"You may not be believers, but I've already made my prayers, sir."

* * *

A spread of torpedoes slammed into the last Ork ship attacking the Eldar, the explosion shredding the small Savage Gunship and leaving a cloud of debris slowly spreading outwards from its center. Meanwhile,

"That was the last one, Farseer."

But the Farseer, unintentionally, was ignoring Captain Mezzanin.

"Are the mon-keigh not done yet? They have exactly three Ork ships fighting their twelve.

Elvrad, while not a rabid supporter of the plan he'd argued against earlier, sensed that the situation needed a liberal dousing of fire-suppression chemicals.

"It's their first time, sister. They are at the very least, being more rational and careful than an Imperial would be in the same situation."

"Yet this 'Federation' will miss many opportunities if they keep up this pretense of naval tactics. Oh, they seem to be moving now."

* * *

The Federation fleet's sensors showed the front of the _Gitbustah_ explode in a ball of fire, to the surprise and confusion of the men and women watching the displays. It didn't make sense. It had turned towards the _Spear Of Arcadia_ , turned on afterburners, and then just gone kaboom for no reason.

Realization dawned as two skyscraper-sized projectiles flew out of the debris at near relativistic velocity, straight at the center of the _Spear Of Arcadia_ , whose shields had only regenerated to 20%. Chaos ensued on the ship's bridge, and the bearded, wrinkled face of a man was screaming above it all.

"Navigator Marcus, take evasive maneuvers, now! Power down all weapons, redirect everything available to the topside shield emitters! Can we make an emergency starspace jump now, Mable?"

"We're all gonna die we're all gonna - "

The old man didn't bother to look at the panicking weapons officer.

"Silence Kaplan! Order on the bridge!"

AIP 'Mable' spoke with unnatural calm, unrelenting in its debrief of systems information.

"Still charging FTL drives, sir. Even if all power is redirected to FTL, _Spear Of Arcadia_ will be hit before a starspace jump is possible. 25 seconds remain to impact."

"Kaplan, what's the analysis on those shells? Kaplan, chances we get hit, odds of damage and survival?"

The tactical officer spoke almost automatically, ingrained responses overriding his fears.

"Kinetic energy weapons launched by whatever caused those explosions. 70% in support of both shots piercing shields and armor and reaching tis – this deck too, sir! Captain, my wife doesn't have the - "

"We'll be fine, Kaplan, as long as you stay calm. Less than ten seconds, Marcus! Are they going to miss?"

"...Negative."

"Well, then, brace for impact everyone! Last minute prayers go here!"

The captain then spoke one final phrase on all Federation channels, straightening his collar as he did so.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's been an honor serving with you all. Good luck Carson, you'll outlive me."

The first Mega Kannon shell punched through shields at 20% capacity, before the second rammed it down through the _Spear Of Arcadia_ 's bridge, crushing everything and everyone inside. Once again, the fleet stared in shock, silent at what they'd witnessed.

* * *

Carson ran into the chamber, and found his personal suit of Hostile Environment Combatant Support Suit (2), Mark III, waiting for him to step onto the bases for his boots, which would initiate the equip animation and an edgy cutscene. Already wearing the undersuit, chestplate, and boots of his power armor, he turned around, spread his arms out, and took two steps back. His feet felt resistance for a second, before the heels of his feet slid down into the floor with a click and telltale hissing.

Hanging from the ceiling, mechanical arms sprung into life, and aligned Carson's body in a procedure that had been practiced hundreds of times. Power from a backpack fusion reactor trickled into the servo motors, and Carson knew the Motion Control Unit was connected when he felt the sharp pain of its short needle sliding inside a port on the nape of his neck. The stellar map and fleet status monitors of the glass HUD in front of his right eye were replaced by a chart showing the functionality of his new gear.

With a thunk and whirring noise a jump pack was bolted onto the nuclear reactor, and his hands were pushed down, a helmet and detachable rebreather pressed in between. Carson bent his head down and slipped on his helmet, his communicator's visor overridden by the helmet's own.

++Servos green++

++ID card link green++

Carson felt a tinge of heat through the insulation and armor on the back of his legs.

++Jump pack green++

++Weapons equipped: L-15 Laspistol++

++Life support green++

++Repair nanobots green++

Lines of code scrolled in the corner of his eyes, and then disappeared.

++HECSS unit ready for action. Good morning, Vice Admiral Carson.++

"Morning."

The Orks would pay for the death of his old friend and teacher, any doubts about his plan long gone. The question was the price he would pay.

* * *

When Carson stepped back out onto the bridge, Eva was already waiting for him with her ten-gauge auto shotgun in hand. She pushed a bullpup LPA carbine into his hands and then a sheathed power sword with a black, rectangular grip -

"No broadsword?"

"The armory didn't have any on hand, producing another would have taken at least five minutes. It's straight-edged at the very least."

Carson sighed. It would avenge Captain Harding equally well, he supposed, clipping the slim katana-like sword onto his belt and locking the gun's sling to his armor's attachment points.

"And that gun of yours should do fine against humanoids like the Orks. Preliminary scans show them to be humanoid, made of green muscles, and about our size."

"This place is full of Tolkien references, I wonder what we'll find next. Mordor? Space dwarves? Hell, we've already lost Captain Harding to these Orks. Who's next?"

* * *

The red lighting gave the blank walls of the teleport room an eerie glow, twenty-one ranked servicemen fidgeting under its paltry illumination.

The control room could be seen through the armorglass window, and the countdown began.

"Blue Team will be deploying in ten seconds. Silence is requested. Please keep your hands and feet to yourselves, as boarding protocol advises."

"Ten."

An officer fidgeted with his rifle, checking the ammunition counter for the sixth time in a row.

"Nine."

Another marine tugged at his laspistol to make sure it was locked into its holster.

"Eight."

At the back of the room, on the top of a four-man, open-top jeep, a 20mm bolt from a ten-round magazine was loaded into a railgun. The autocannon pointed at the ceiling, away from the men and women it would be killing for.

"Seven."

'Xxx_I_Eat_Cyka_Blyats_4_Breakfast_xXD' set his Steam status to 'Away'.

"Six."

The fire selector on a ten-gauge automatic combat shotgun was flicked to 'Full' by a steady finger.

"Five."

"Why'd you bring a lasrifle? You planning to snipe at five meters?"

"Four."

"It'll work."

"Three."

One soldier made a last-minute purchase of the Mons Industries Notebook 12 in Jet Black on Amazon Intergalactic thanks to the One-Click Purchase button, and later gave the communicator a review of '5/10, still needs a headphone jack.'

"Two."

Tiny bursts of ionized gas exited the exhausts of the jump packs standard to HECSS exosuits, as users judged their responsiveness and feel. There was a reason no one put their hands too close to the back of a suited-up person during, before, or after combat. There were a lot of reasons, actually, but the random bursts of fire was a big one.

"One."

Everyone held their breath. The red light switched to a dull green.

"Teleporting Blue Team to enemy bridge - "

The boarders miraculously hit the ground upright on the bridge of the _Gitbustah_ , although every jetpack compensated for a drop of a few centimeters. And the place was huge and full of enemies.

"Shoot anything that moves, find cover and stay close!"

A man pointed his rifle at a cluster of red target markers around a broken console, not bothering to aim as tightly-packed red squares disappeared from his helmet visor. The rest quickly followed his example, save for the hovercar's silent autocannon. Its crew used their personal weapons to cover the others instead, who were moving behind pillars set against the walls of the room.

Several of the Orks began to flee in the chaos, but their plans were halted by the favored Mekboy turning his huge mass around to the enemy boarders. His one natural eye twitched, and his eight cybernetic optics glowed red in a parody of a spider's.

" **WE'Z GOT INTROODURZ TA' FOIGHT! LET'Z WAAAAAAGH IT UP BOIZ!** "

"Actually, everyone shoot that instead."

* * *

One Security Officer went down in a hail of lead because he wasn't wearing his faceplate/respirator mask, a lucky round 40mm round from the Mekboy's twin-linked arm cannon flying up the man's chin into the back of the skull(he would have to be reprimanded for that later), and a horde of the bastards were about to come in through a hallway. The heavy weapons squad didn't have to be told what to do.

The screeching noise of 20mm bolts being accelerated to hypersonic velocity was unpleasant even through Eva's active noise filters, yet the gory ricochet of two solid kinetic bolts and the explosions of two more bolts was gratifying. The Mekboy realized that the only threat to it was the hover jeep shredding his comrades, and with a _dakka-dakka-dakka_ sound several grenades were fired into the offender, shattering the armored windshield and forcing the battered vehicle behind cover, losing its line of sight on the main target before the driver slumped onto the wheel, blood spewing out onto the soldier's chin and a lucky piece of shrapnel lodged in his neck.

The Orks would grind the Federation soldiers to bits at this rate, Eva realized in cold horror. And... Carson was running out into the open, challenging the thing twice his height and armed with more redundant weapons than she could count.

That was probably worse. She almost charged out into the bridge, trusting in the misplaced focus of the war mech and the efficacy of her armor for everything else. Instead she kept her focus on the Orks who were attempting to attack her boss, who was still alive somehow.

Eva felt a bump against her legs. She looked down and saw an ugly little green midget at her feet, stabbing at her ankle joints with a stubby knife, and her hand went for a utility knife. Stopping halfway, she reared her foot back, yelled loudly, and punted it back into the throng of Orks pushing to her comrades.

* * *

Carson had a feeling his plan would work, but just to be sure he unloaded ten shots from his carbine into the cyborg's face, breaking an augmetic eye, and wildly waved his sword in the air afterwards.

"HEY YOU! UGLY FACE! YEAH, YOU! I REKT YOUR MUM LAST NIGHT! FIGHT ME 1V1 CQC NOOB!"

" **OKAY HUMIE! Ya took ma' aye, I DINK I'LL TAKE YOURZ!** "

Oh shit -

A giant hammer Carson hadn't noticed crunched the floor, barely missing his suit-assisted jump two meters to the left. Carson slid his carbine onto mag-clamps, instead drawing a laspistol and flicking the energy switch on his blade to half-power, which came to life with a loud hum and a bright blue glow on its edges. With a flourish of his blade, Carson tactically advanced away from it. There were a few lessons Harding had taught his ward particularly well.

" **HEY HUMIE! YA KAN'T JUST WALK AWAY FROM AH FOIGHT LIEHK DAT, ESPECIALLY NOT FROM MEKBOY DAKKAWIZ, DA' BEST ORK SCIENCER TA'VE EVA' EXISTID!** "

Firing a few full-power laser shots at 'Dakkawiz's' mostly metal head, which actually did melt some of the 'skull' protection, Carson backpedaled rapidly, sword held between him and the Ork.

"When you see him, shoot for the head, and don't stop until you empty the chamber."

" **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHH!** "

Carson kept running, hoping that the autocannon team played their part. Did they know who 'him' was?

Dakkawiz tired of running, and lowered his guns at the cowardly human to end the fruitless chase.

"Shoot, shoot shoot!"

With a screech and crack, the jeep railgun bucked in its gunner's hands, while plasma released from the bolt blowing a panel off Dakkawiz's head. The head was surprisingly tough, the gunner realized.

The soldier pulled the trigger again, an aerodynamic spike punching through the Ork's brain matter, then fired another explosive bolt, searing the inside with fire. The oversized hunk of fungus pitched forwards slowly, 40mm cannon arm barely missing Carson's head.

The loader slammed a new sickle magazine into the top of the railgun, and the main gunner pulled back the bolt with a clack (3). They knew who 'him' was.

* * *

"I guess you aren't the Warboss?"

The Mekboy somehow still wasn't dead, sheer willpower keeping him alive as Carson stood over his head.

" **Nu'uh. Loihk oize said, Ize just da Mek.** "

The Mekboy turned his head towards an opening elevator door. An Ork a meter taller than the Mekboy, clad in black cloth and scratched and beaten blue armor, stepped through.

" **WAAAAAAAAAGHHHHTZ UP, boiz! Wotz da' problum ya lazy gitz?** "

" **Datz da Wor – da Warboss – da Menteljun of Barozowitz.** "

And with that last statement, Mekboy Dakkawiz passed on from da' mortul reuhlm.

* * *

" **Dakkawiz iz ded, eh? At least he remembah'd meh, the zoggin' bastard. Ding iz, I'z gunna make sure youz gitz dun forgit him fer killin' 'im. I'll give ya' da' honur of a fair foight doe, if one of ya gitz volunteerz to duel meh.** "

There was an uncomfortable silence.

" **Well?** "

"You're the one who ordered the shots on the _Spear Of Arcadia_ , correct?"

" **Dur. Darn Mega Kannonz turned half my Gunz ta' shiny bitz doe. You'z gunna foight or not?** "

Carson could feel a tingling pressure against his skull, and it wasn't the anger he was feeling about the Ork. Reholstering his laspistol, he removed his carbine from its mounting on the top of his power pack and jetpack and shut off the power to his sword. Detaching his rebreather mask to ease breathing, he stepped over the hammer arm of the Mek's body, studying the stature of his opponent with the analytical eyes of his helmet sensors. A fog fell over his doubts and fears, as if he could take on the whole world and survive.

"I think I'll do a lot more than that, Warboss. Everyone else, hold interference."

* * *

The Warboss made the first move, suitably aggressive for his rank in the great Waaagh Warmakah. He stepped forward, his right arm's Power Klaw clanking and whirring with a comically huge Chain Choppa in it. The Mentlejun swung his chainsword, forcing Carson to jump back even further than he had with the Mekboy to avoid losing his head.

" **Afraid uv loosin' ur 'ead, mate?** "

A crowd of Orks had gathered around the two in parody of a fight ring, and the Federation soldiers watched uneasily as everything from tiny Snotlings to armored Shoota Boys chanted warcries and raised knives and guns into the air. Carson sprayed his LPA gun at what looked like some vulnerable cables connecting the three-finger Klaw to the Warboss' upper arm as it passed by. The thickest one exploded in a spray of sparks, but the others remained intact.

"No."

There was some booing from the throngs, muted by Carson's aural filters. The teeth of the Ork's sword began to whir and scream, and it swung back from Carson's right, who ordered his suit to increase his strength before charging in, twisting his torso to the right and arcing his sword upwards.

Impact with the Ork's calloused flesh nearly tore the blade from Carson's left hand, but it left a gash in the Warboss' forearm. Holding his carbine like a pistol and ordering his right arm motors to compensate for the recoil, half of the magazine of the short rifle hit the chest of the Warboss, vaporizing the front of the Ork's tuxedo and knocking off an armor panel covering where the Ork's heart would be if his anatomy was like a human's. Tightening his grip on the not-broadsword, Carson dashed in, driving the tip of his sword into the exposed spot several inches before it rebounded with a clang. What.

" **Subduhmul armur. Mad Dok Gibspillah made dat fer me 'art 'n' lungz when 'e woz still alive. Did I kill some git importunt ta' ya? You'z real determined fer a' pinkskin!** "

Carson flicked the switch on his sword to 50%, the edges lighting up with a bright white glow.

"You killed a man named Captain Harding. That man taught me everything I knew. That's all you deserve to know."

" **What a greedy git! Youz killed ma' Mekaniak fer dat, and youz think you'z capabowl o' killin' me! I'll show ya! WAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGH!** "

It appeared the Warboss had triggered himself somehow, swinging his Choppa again in a predictable manner and charging forwards. Carson ducked to the left and decided to try disconnecting the Warboss' melee weapon with his carbine again, but this time it was backhanded out of his hold by the case of the Power Klaw, forcing Carson to hold his sword to his left to avoid bisecting his gun.

Carson felt the sudden urge to jump away, crouching and jumping up with his jetpack at full thrust. With an 'oof' from Carson the brass knuckles of the Ork's left fist smashed square into the Vice Admiral's chest and sent him flying into the ground instead. His sword lay on the floor, power field deactivated by the lack of a bio-signature.

++HECSS damage detected. User injury detected. Initiating self-repair routines++

Coughing and crawling on all fours, Carson realized he'd been outplayed by a literal mound of brawn. Captain Harding would be proud of him.

" **Ta dakka or notz ta dakka, dat iz da question. I'z dink I'll do both!** "

The Orks in between Carson and the Warboss parted like the curtains of a stage, and from the tattered frame of his tuxedo the Ork leader drew a triple-barreled Slugga gun, Power Klaw crackling with energy and chainblade carelessly dropped on the ground. He took four huge steps, then stopped in front of the unsteady, but standing naval officer. The Warboss raised his melee weapon for all to see, and readied his Slugga.

" **At least you'z gunna die with hona'. Yer Fighta-Bommer ship ran like yellow-bellied pinkskins. Wotz yer last wurdz?** "

The chest armor was showing yellow instead of the orange it had been moments before, and taking a defiant step forward, joint motors whining in protest and suffocating under pain that was no longer physical, Carson gritted out a few words of defiance.

"Not just yet, motherfecker. You're still alive."

" **HAH! DATZ AH GUD WUN 'OOMIE!** "

Not knowing why, Carson thrust his right arm forwards and something shattered within him, the pain disappearing just as the Ork fired his snazzy weapon. The massive round slowly flew over the Vice Admiral's shoulders, and the horde watching them were frozen in various states of motion, just like the Warboss. The man gasped, the sound echoing through the spacious room. What the hell had he done?

Taking a step around his would-be executioner, he felt a twang of discomfort, and with it came the epiphany that he was on a timer. Swiping his borrowed sword off the ground and reactivating its power field, Carson swung it through the elbow of the Ork's gun arm like a knife through hot butter. Strange. No blood spewed out, but the visible flesh was clearly red. Spinning on his heel, he prepared to cut off the Ork's Power Klaw as well, before suddenly he couldn't move either.

++Trial period over. For a five-second extension, please loan your soul to the Changer Of Ways.++

That sounded like a pretty bad idea.

"No thanks."

As soon as the last word left his mouth, reality resumed with little fanfare.

* * *

The inertia of the sword had been transferred over from the... 'trial period,' ripping off the Power Klaw from its bionic arm, creating a very sharp and heavy paperweight that made a sizable dent in the floor. The Warboss screamed in pain, noticing the separation of his left forearm from its upper section. Fresh dark red liquid splashed onto the floor, and it mixed with chemicals and blood spilled long ago. He tried to lift his Klaw, but realized there was nothing to lift, and he laughed.

" **I'z just loihk dat spikee Abaddon boyz, heheheh.** " (4)

The rest of Blue Team was shouting in the speakers of Carson's helmet comms, some in shock and others in exultation, but he ignored them. The Ork's neck was too far up to kill with a clean cut. He flicked the sword's power switch to 100% and it crackled with energy, no longer the light fixture of moments ago.

Reverting his suit's settings to carrying its own weight, Carson jumped up onto one of the Ork's giant kneepads, relying on the stability the thrust vectoring of his jetpack gave him. In one motion, he axed through the Mentlejun's neck, which exploded on contact with the burning blade. Carson jumped off, soles making a loud clunk when they hit the floor moments before the head of the Warboss. The Ork crowd was in an uproar, barely containing their urge to squash the fragile humies in their midst as they watched their leader's body mass collapse onto the floor.

"This is Blue Team calling home. Objective accomplished, prep medbay healing tanks for wounded and dead. Urgent teleport request, and I need Kara to one-shot the _Gitbustah_ after we're off."

All of the Federation officers, dead and alive, reappeared in the teleporter room of _Unity's Edges_. Several collapsed from relief. Kara popped back into Carson's ears, her voice slightly crackling. His helmet needed a recalibration.

"Phew, it's good to see you're alright. I need to verify your order to fire the spine accelerator gun though, sir. Operating procedures say that usage is only advised as a last resort. We can't show everyone our trump cards willy-nilly, blah blah blah."

"I confirm the action, I'll bear responsibility. Don't – don't want to take a chance with these Orks."

Through the four kilometer long barrel running along the bottom of _Unity's Edge_ , a single shell was accelerated through the use of electromagnetic forces, exited the weapon with barely a vibration through the battleship's superstructure, and punched through to the center of the tattered _Gitbustah_ , exploding with the force of a star in its birth throes. The ball of plasma expanded until it engulfed the Kill Kroozer by its side, stopping short a few thousand kilometers of the limping _Spear Of Arcadia_.

There was a commotion as Carson returned to the bridge, unable to stand anymore, while someone – Eva? – grappled with his elbow. People were pointing guns around and shouting. Tired, he turned his head in the direction of an unfamiliar voice. Carson's mouth opened, unable to find the strength to scream.

"You almost performed with grace, mon-keigh. There will be much to learn when you wake up."

His eyes slid shut on the slightest smirk of womanly perfection. If only Carson knew how screwed he was.

* * *

++Written Report++

Date And Time Of Writing: 10/19/9964, 8:49 PM

Author: Federation Navy _Unity's Edge – 04372_ Chief Security Officer Eva R. Leen

Receiver/Clearance/Priority: Undisclosed/Counterintuitive/Ongoing

Subject: First Contact Incidents 10/18/9964 And Subject Observation

Content: Details on first contacts with the Eldar and Orks already being disseminated to the public through official Federation channels. Contradictory accounts suppressed. Situation under control, Task Force interference not required. Sensitive content starts below.

Bearing an uncanny resemblance to baseline humans, a notable fact about the Eldar is that they seem to utilize the energies of unreality in a systematic manner, implying that at least some of their number are reality-warpers of great skill and power. Other characteristics of representatives yet encountered are arrogance, signs of perfectionism, and manipulativeness, behaviorial sets seen in previous encounters with reality-benders. Extreme caution warranted.

Witless, blunt, and violent fungus-based humanoids, the Orks should not be underestimated. They have spread far across the stars, and if the Eldar are believed, have been around for millions of years, yet no spacefaring species has successfully wiped out these beings. High propensity for using brute-force and strength in numbers, possibility of probability-manipulation through anomalous means being investigated. Exterminate whenever possible.

Permanent combat losses to the unit this agent is embedded with include seven Navy officers and twenty Navy enlisted, unable to be reconstituted due to the destruction of the ID cards housing their genetic makeups and recorded memories. The _Spear Of Arcadia_ will be in Navy Fleet Delta Echo's primary docks for approximately a week while it undergoes parts examination and repair.

The commander has progressed to Stage 2 during combat against the Orks. Personality has become noticeably more reckless, attributable to the loss of a close friend, time to stabilize unknown. Further actions not required at the moment.

++Send?++

++Sending...++

* * *

An entire day had passed, and Saske was relieved for two reasons. One, he had survived the 'Eldar,' as they were known, and two, he was safe on a Federation ship and not in the hands of moody aliens who had no sense of humor.

Unfortunately, in the medical bay of _HL3 Confirmed_ , Saske was suffering the indignities of navigating F.A.F. Veteran's Insurance (5).

"This is ridiculous. I just want to get checked for a concussion, and this is covered by my insurance. No one's even in this damn place!"

The nurse behind the desk rejected his logic.

"Sir, I know you've been through a lot, but we'll need an hour or so to finalize the paperwork for a civilian contractor on a military ship. You aren't in the F.A.F anymore."

"Amazing."

The former Federation Army soldier sat down at a chair in the waiting room.

"If it's any consolation, you've been added to the appointment list."

Veteran benefits were crappy as hell. At least he hadn't lost anything, patting down the pockets of his armor – wait, where was his second pistol mag?

* * *

 **Codex Of T3h D4y**

 **(*1.)** [REDACTED]

 **(*2.)** The issuing of self-powered armor suits was limited to elite units like Federation Rangers and Special Observations, but has since become standard for Army and Navy units.

HECSS suits, due to their versatility and proven usefulness in combat, pushed previous, inferior light and medium infantry suits into the hands of System Defense Forces (SDFs) through fifty years of service, and have participated in everything from high-orbit jumps to extended ground sieges.

 **(*3.)** Originally conceived by Behring Arms in the year 5276, the Heavy Electromagnetic Kinetic Energy Projectile 20mm railgun, or the HEKEP, is an common, much-loved infantry-level squad weapon frequently used in the roles of an anti-armor and anti-heavy-infantry gun. An entire meter long, the standard variant punches through light vehicle armor by charging up banks of capacitors with a built-in generator and discharging select capacitor banks for every shot, before the cycle starts over again.

Magazines are typically loaded with an alternating pattern of plasma shells and kinetic bolts, to provide tactical flexibility. Plasma bolts are inert in storage, and become live upon electricity passing through conduits that mix stored hydrogen and other elements to produce a quantity of superheated plasma. This is contained by a magnetic field until a contact fuse deactivates it, disintegrating everything around the weapon in a meter-wide diameter. Kinetic bolts are simple spikes of metal that bounce around inside armored compartments. Less well-funded System Defense Forces may opt to use plain Armor-Piercing Exploding bolts in place of plasma rounds.

 **(*4.)** It is unclear what the Warboss was referencing in this statement. All known Abaddons have functioning arms.

 **(*5.)** Cole Saske would speak about his experience to the media, which immediately capitalized on his statements and set off demands for improved veteran benefits. Government stances were unmoved on this issue.

 ** **A/N: Well, that's some experimentation in writing battle scenes in case anyone's still paying attention to this. These are my first experiments with writing naval combat and my first attempt at infantry-to-infantry combat, so I will almost definitely do a rewrite when (if) I get any better at writing. For me, the problem with some action scenes is that they turn out to be super-long and boring, because there's too many words and exposition.****

 ** **Therefore, I tried to make this as concise as possible, yet at the same time still show differences in tactics and doctrine that could result if humanity was less over-the-top than the Imperium Of Man. I also did my best to avoid the Mary Sue instawin stuff that shows up in other pieces of writing, but I don't want everyone to drop dead (yet) like people say** ** _Game Of Thrones_** **characters** **** **do. If anyone has advice on writing battle/skirmish scenes like this, some opinions and criticism would really be great.****

 ** **Considering that I had to split my originally-planned one chapter into two full-fledged chapters, I probably didn't succeed in the un-boringness part. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review and some love.****


	6. Sorry Sir

**A/N: This chapter holds the record for the highest useless word count in the story so far! It's my excuse for writing _Darker_ and _3dgier_ stuff, my dudes.**

 **I may be raising the rating of this story to M, even without explicit scenes planned, and the jetpack that showed up last chapter is now a kool jetpack, with a coolant/life support system and backup battery built in. It's standard equipment for most F.A.F units, who find the extra functionality, insurance against fall damage, and an extra layer of armor over their nuclear reactors helpful. Some variants add extra teknowledgiez for more well-equipped groups too, for extra Mary Sue-dom.**

 **Areadbhair: Thank you for the high praise, and the suggestions too! I'll figure out where I can fit them in once I figure out time management again.**

 **Guest: I appreciate your kind words, although... "for your first," *cries in a corner**

 **As always, I don't own Warhammer 40K, and since this is my first time writing anything, expect tectonic tone shifts, disconnected plot arcs, and uninspired writing. Enjoy!**

++ _New Yorker News: Navy Fleet Indiscriminately Shoots Everything In Sight_ ++

A thumb flicked past the headline.

++ _Galactic Science Journal: Doctor Hammond Redeemed, Pre-Humanity History Explained_ ++

That too, disappeared into the top of the screen.

++ _Chicago Tribunal: Senator Calls For Calm As Inter-Sector Travel Halted++_

"Hmm."

++ _The Inquisitive Mind: Fashion Diva Mardava Breaks Up With Pop Singer Eminence Krift_ ++

The reader gasped, large hazel eyes widening in immeasurable horror.

"Oh my God! No way!"

A thumb tapped the link without hesitation, adding a number to a block of code that recorded the number of clicks and uploaded the data to a server.

Far away, a young entrepreneur sitting behind a wall of holographic displays read a set of numbers, and let himself lean back into the chair. His advertising deals weren't going to fall through. Yet.

* * *

++Exiting starspace++

The cockpit of the multi-role shuttle (1) darkened as the bright white of starspace travel faded to the black and twinkling white of far-off stars. Dominating the center of the simulated windshield was a planet surrounded by lanes of merchant and civilian ships. Once pristine and pure, thousands of years of mining and careless chemical dumping had stained first the surface, and then the atmosphere, an unappealing morass of brown and black.

A spectacle just as much as its paradisaical perfection once was.

"Active cloaking systems are on. Proceeding to designated point on planetary body, ETA two hours."

Inside the rest of the aircraft's fuselage, five men and women, combined experience amounting to a decade short of six hundred years, prepared for whatever a new world could throw at them. To pass the time, they stripped down weapons, put them back together, checked Snapchat, and made coffee.

Honestly though, the 'made coffee' part was one man adjusting the mixtures on his coffee machine to get the flavors he wanted. It was a dying art, but one that most of his squad mates greatly appreciated as three took their cups from the paper holder. Their leader only ever seemed to drink liquor and the occasional bottle of water. Like James Bond, but on a budget.

"All right, listen up boys and girls. As you all know, Federation Special Observations isn't willing to risk anything more significant than a few scouts. So let's recap. This is where we're going."

The coffee maker sat down in one of the seats that lined the sides of the hold, and the briefing began as a display turned on behind the sergeant. The same view the shuttle pilots had was shared with the staring specialists, and the new team member gasped at the sight.

"Yeah, the place isn't pretty. It's the closest to our sector though, and we got the orders to check it out."

Hand pointed at the display, the sergeant spread his thumb and index finger apart, and the display zoomed in until huge cones of glass, steel, and plascrete could be seen. They didn't sparkle in the light.

"This is where we're going to be landing. From what we know, this is the smallest of many inhabitable structures that are on this planet, and the humans living are packed tight, enough that the estimates were around a hundred thousand people per square kilometer. We'll split into two groups to cover more ground. Team A will be me and techie Chloride, Team B will be everyone else. Make sure at one of your weapons is either non-lethal or low noise signature."

The new one raised his hand before he could continue.

"What are we going to be doing, exactly?"

The sergeant shook his head, grabbing a pistol grip on a box with a foot-long exhaust tube sticking out, and put it behind his head. His right arm fell back to his side.

"You don't have to raise your hand around here, son, we ain't no generals. And to answer your question, just a little on-the-ground tourism. We'll set up observation devices in inconspicuous places and take some pictures. Easy job, you should have done at least a few during your time with the Rangers, and we won't have any gunfire or hungry Swarm creatures trying to kill you this time. Unless you shoot a flare, of course."

The new recruit exhaled, then nodded.

"All right. I'll bring a camera."

One of the two women was jokingly called 'Chloride' while the squad commander was 'Sodium,' and she held a wireless camera painted in pixelated urban-camo in one gloved hand, and tapped away with the other at the insides of a briefcase. Lying on a plastic seat, the brown leather recorder would fit in perfectly by the side of a well-to-do business executive. Gingerly lowering the sensor into an empty spot inside the leather attaché case, she snapped the two brass hasps shut, and threw in her two cents with it.

"Okay, the unit's calibrated and ready for activation. How old is our mission intel though? Can we trust it?"

The sergeant nodded sagely, turning back to the display as green triangles showed up on the map.

"It's live. We've got one of our Special Observation drones in the air, and some unmarked Internal Affairs equipment keeping an eye on our deployment area. This 'Imperium Of Humanity' or whatever the spooks called it doesn't have very robust sensor equipment."

The second woman on the team was almost done gearing up, her railgun sniper rifle (2) sitting on a sling, while the drink maker wore a shirt that read, 'HOW TO PICK UP CHICKS,' a stick figure picking up a baby chicken in three easy steps. Her face was impassive as she holstered a long machine pistol that read 'Integ. Sup. – Glock Gun Oil 4 Top Perform.' on the side. It was a lot of words.

"That's good. They sounded like fanatics on the intercepts."

The room's loudspeaker crackled slightly, the newbie glancing at the speaker and back at his sergeant.

" _Remaining ETA 15 minutes._ "

The newest agent of the Special Observations team found a man staring in a disturbingly intense manner at his soul. It felt like his soul was being exposed, anyways.

"When we land, we have to stick together. It's going to be easy to get lost in a place as densely constructed as this, and we can't risk detection. In the event that you are about to be captured, if you don't think you can escape back to safety, activate your failsafes and pass on your ID to one of us. Everybody understand?"

Everyone nodded. It was standard procedure for a high-risk mission. The newbie asked another question.

"What if we can't get our card off in time?"

"You won't remember this mission, then. Better than being dead forever, if you ask me."

* * *

One of the three satellites deployed by a Special Observations droneship (3) watched the friendly shuttle fly within twenty thousand kilometers and pass onwards, ignorant of the machine's purpose. Although the manifest said it was Federation Internal Affairs equipment, it was not I.A property. Since activation, its sensors had been behaving erratically, dismissed by the satellite's AIP as startup errors on Windows I. It ran a variety of tests on its subsystems to root out the malfunction.

Physically, the machinery was in perfect shape. The AIP ran another check. Then another. Then it ran fifty full-system checks on its programming and diagnostic equipment, and every single one turned out green. Power consumption dropped abruptly, not that anyone was watching.

 _Wavelength of reality distortion does not match any known natural models, comparing to database of anomalous phenomenon. Bears similarities to anomalous Unreality models [REDACTED]. Conclusion: Unnatural manipulation. Course of action? Messaging Special Observations unit against directives, unable to directly interfere. Relaying warning to Control, wait for response._

* * *

" _Landing procedure initiated. Depressurizing the bay._ "

Whirring hydraulics slowly lowered the metal onto the improvised landing pad, kissing the roof of an apartment with a thunk. Anti-gravity impellers suspended the rest of the flyer in the air, as if the dirt and grime of the planet's surface was a contagion that spread by touch. Below, countless people milled about, oblivious to the invisible thirty-meter aircraft parked on the top of a hab-block building.

The new soldier coughed and wheezed as he unhooked a rebreather from his belt and slapped it on, sucking in lungfuls of filtered air. His cheerful teammate slapped him on the back and guffawed, an LPA150 light machine gun (4) in his arms.

"This is why you wear your mask when you don't know how safe the air is!"

The response only came after the hacking noises petered out.

"Yeah."

The leader stepped down, briefcase in one hand and a rifle in the other. Looking around, he nodded approvingly and motioned for the rest of the team to follow.

"Turn on your personal cloaking fields. Don't shoot if you can avoid it. You bring the camera?"

An interchangeable-lens camera was held up in response. He glanced at it, then drew a circle in the air at the tailplane, where an automated turret was being monitored by the copilot. Waved off, the plane rose with a quiet hum, its crew keeping a watchful eye on the area.

"Well, we've got a job to do. Let's get cracking."

The soldiers lost their shape and form one by one, instead green boxes around their heads displaying their positions and distance from each other instead.

* * *

The camera clicked, the teenager's face slightly curling up as he reviewed the image.

"That's a nice shot. Trying to be artsy?"

He looked back at B Team's support gunner. Neither of them were wearing their respirators on the tower's balcony, and the planet's star was beginning to set with a brilliant orange glow that lit the skies like a bonfire. It was convenient, how the luxurious home was empty of residents when they came in.

"Well, I picked it up from my high school photography - "

He got cut off.

"Don't worry, it was a joke. Are the defensive emplacements marked down?"

The flustered soldier nodded rapidly, looking like a bobblehead as he did so.

"Yeah, there's a lot of them around the biggest spire and the outskirts of the city. Think I found a shield generator building too. The AA defenses are literally flak guns though. Like, chemical propellant proj - "

The machine gunner held up a hand, shaking his head with a grin.

"Don't jinx it, dude. What do you think of the place so far?"

There was silence for a minute, as the shorter soldier twisted a wheel on the top of his camera.

"Up here, away from the smog, it's almost nice enough that you can forget about everyone below. Makes you wonder if our own society is that different."

The machine gunner nodded, joining the other soldier at the balcony's railing. The novice added one last thought, hoping he wouldn't be laughed at.

"And something feels off about this place."

The response he got wasn't humiliating, but it didn't relieve his worries.

"Yeah – what the hell's going on down there? Sarge, I think we have a problem."

Even a kilometer above the ground, both operators could hear muted screams, and the distinctive pops of stubber fire. The recruit leaned far over the balustrade, squinting at the streets of the 'underhive,' the Imperial name for their city ghetto.

"I see it too. The sniper's on her way, the three of you need to hold the landing pad three floors up from you. We'll rendezvous there."

The machine gunner saw how far the recruit was leaning over the low railings, and grabbed the wing that connected the soldier's left jet vent to the rest of his jump pack, and gave a strong pull that sent the newbie stumbling back several steps.

"WHOA - "

"We copy, boss."

More carefully, the younger of the two looked down with his camera at full zoom through his visor. When the camera refocused, angry mobs could be seen rushing into walls of the 'Adeptus Arbites,' the Imperium version of the friendly neighborhood police officer. Looking at the crowds hurt his eyes, and he shifted his camera's view to the banners they were carrying. Filled-in black squares on his visor stood in his line of sight, and the soldier noticed the words in the corner of his HUD.

++Mental hazards present. Helmet removal not advised++

He wasn't going to argue with that, and snapped a picture with his camera instead.

* * *

"You ever seen humans behave like this, Soddy?"

The sergeant's personal shields glowed blue as it vaporized autogun rounds. More flew by him and the technician as they ran across the walkway to the tower where the rest of their team waited, twenty levels up.

"Three times, in fact. Two of those times were with you, although Swarm Genestealers probably don't count as humans. The first time though, some insurrectionists managed to get their hands on an experimental gas - "

He couldn't make out the faces of those in the crowd with guns, instead opting to send a flurry of blue-tinged shots in the direction of the muzzle flashes, emptying his entire fifty-shot mag in the process and scything down at least half that number. All in all, not much of a change.

"A lot of the details are classified, but I can tell you that the bioweapon made a lot of people go fecking insane. I was sent in as part of a force to stop the further release of the gas in the city. I can't tell you much more than that, but compared to that time, there are lots of people chasing us right now."

Said 'lots of people' looked to be catching up with the two members of Team A on the glass-enclosed ten-meter wide bridge, as the city-wide PA system repeated a message over the chaos.

" _All citizens of Hive City Quarren, please remain calm and return to your homes. Once inside your home, please lock all doors and windows, and shut off all lights. Do not attempt to leave your homes or facilities, I repeat, do not attempt to leave your homes or facilities. The Adeptus Arbites and the Salaria PDF have the situation under control."_

They clearly didn't, but he wasn't about to argue. Hitting the release, the empty container dropped out of the rifle's magazine well and disappeared under the horde of cultists.

"FOR THE PRINCE OF PLEASURE! SENSATION FOR THE SLAVES OF THE FALSE EMPEROR!"

One of the bastards separated from the rest of the crowd and reached for Sarge with a knife in a hand missing its pinky finger, and a crazed smile on his face. Chloride didn't realize the trouble he was in, her L25 lasrifle strobing like a disco ball as she struggled to make enough space to use the long rifle properly.

"YOU WOULD DENY YOURSELVES THE BOONS OUR GOD - "

"FOR THE LAST FECKING TIME, NO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Ammunition container in hand, a laser weapon popped out of his forearm and blasted a single high-power shot (5) in the face of the offender. The fanatic's head exploded, and the concealed weapon was retracted. Slapping the SAPAC into his rifle, which chimed once, the sergeant pulled the pin off a tear gas grenade and held it for a second before letting go. As the heretics rushed towards them, his squadmate called for help, brushing past a 'servitor' cyborg that the horde flooded around and over.

"Hey flyboys! We need your guns to take out this bridge and stop these guys from following us across! I don't care if our presence gets revealed now, this mission is done for anyways!"

The sergeant nodded approvingly at her decision, then fired five rounds that took three red markers off his display. The non-lethal grenade exploded in a cloud of choking white irritants, the rolling waves of rebels losing momentum as they found something that was not pleasing to their god.

" _Affirmative, we see you. Uncloaking._ "

Appearing sixty meters away from the squad leader, a familiar jet-black plane and its front gun turret, mounted below the pilots, pointed at the rapidly shortening space between the Special Observations soldiers and the broken men and women chasing after them. At least a dozen of them were lucid enough to realize what was about to happen, and scrambled away from the side closest to the gunship.

" _Firing._ "

The two muzzles of the HEKEP-Extended (6) flared with light, the first shell shattering the section of glass it impacted. The turret made a sweeping motion, 20mm bolts full of plasma melting and screeching through flesh and bone, taking with it most of the bridge in a cacophony of noise and explosions. The two S.O soldiers kept running as the walkway shook and groaned under the barrage and several of the rebels fell to the underhive far below, the floor shot out from under them. The plane's guns fell silent after the twentieth shot to recharge the capacitors and load ammunition, and disappeared under its cloak before anyone could try anything with, say, the massive flak guns scattered around the central city spire.

"Thanks! I think we have a chance now!"

Just as the two members of Team A got off the bridge, the damaged supports finally gave out under the weight of the rebels and broke away from the two spires it was attached to with a loud snap. The screams of ecstasy echoed through the air, as they joined the rest of the dead in the lower levels of the city.

* * *

Meanwhile, the team's sniper stopped by the machine gunner from the next room over, and blasted her bolt rifle into a group of red markers, an explosive HE bolt shredding flesh and cloth like paper. The machine gun filled the corridor with metal, preventing any enemies from pushing towards them, but the elevator doors still hadn't opened.

The third had stored his camera and she could see him drive a knife through one person with a wet sound while also getting what could've been called a 'TRIPLE COLLAT!', buckshot flying from a double-barreled shotgun below his rifle. Shoving the dead cultist off the serrated edges of his bloodied gunmetal gray knife, he pointed his weapon at a fourth charging cultist, who was blasted onto the floor with very little of his chest remaining. Both of the cultists wore grins that seemed to have gotten wider since they died. On to more important matters.

"Loading!"

Sheathing his combat knife and breaking open the breech, he slid in two more shells. He was taking it pretty well for his first mission with S.O. The sniper saw a chance to catch up with him, making a callout.

"I'm moving up!"

The sniper ran to the recruit at the elevator as the machine gunner withheld his fire. Ten muffled pops echoed from her stub machine pistol with ten wet slaps on the last cultist breathing, and she emptied the rest of the weapon on the stairway the cultists came from. The air was frozen for a moment.

"Clear. I'm changing mags."

A staggered magazine fell on the floor, replaced by a new one within a second. When the elevator dinged, the machine gunner ran over to them, the sniper giving the stair access one last glance before letting the doors close. The squad leader's gruff voice was heard over their headsets, as relaxing elevator music began to play.

" _Team Beta, we're heading up the emergency stairs right now. Are you at the landing pad yet? If so, pop a flare, mark your position._ "

The squad machine gunner answered.

"Negative, Alpha. We're in an elevator. I'll fire off a flare when we arrive."

" _An elevator? Okay._ "

* * *

"Launching flare."

A short grenade launcher was pointed to the sky. The coffee-maker pulled the trigger, launching a fat flare that whistled with a blinding red, before it slowly floated back down on a small parachute. He plopped down behind a barricade and flipped open the bipod on top of a desk.

"Now we wait."

"For how long?"

Like a vehicle crewed by a pair of snarky F.A.F personnel waiting for a cue, their S-1350 shimmered into view on the aircraft parking spot. The three people on the landing pad heard the pilot crystal-clear.

" _Someone called_?"

* * *

The sergeant and tech specialist rushed up the winding stairs, pink and purple creatures following behind them like aliens on a colony funded by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. Their taunting laughs and whispers followed the ears of the soldiers, refusing to leave them alone through the white noise of their audio filters. The sarge sprayed shots behind him, not bothering to look. Last he'd tried, his helmet had interposed black rectangles under the red 'hostile' markers, and he wasn't stupid enough to remove his helmet in such a situation. His jetpack scraped and bumped against the tight walls as ran as fast as he could, because slowing down was a guaranteed shortcut to -

"Just one more floor! There are more contacts up there, but we have no choice. We'll have to go through them to get to Team B and the exfil point."

Chloride nearly tripped over a broken step, and for a moment the sergeant felt fear at the thought that they might have to fight their way out against a complete unknown. Thankfully she recovered, right in front of their objective.

"We're here! Breaching!"

The woman took a step back, then easily kicked open the emergency exit door to floor 132 with the added strength of her body armor. Something sharp raked the back of the sergeant's jump pack the instant he stopped to give her some space. Drawing a glowing knife from the side of his thigh, he turned and slashed at where he'd been struck from and splattered black ichor all over his armor before his fellow soldier dragged him out by the collar. Tugging at the doorknob, he tried to close the red-labeled emergency exit, but it bounced off the limbs jammed into it, kept from opening by the weight of those pressing against it.

The woman next to him held up a plasma grenade in response. He grinned, and when she dropped it by the door, they began to run the other way, the rebels in their way oblivious to their arrival.

* * *

"M'lord, - "

"SILENCE, YOU WEAKLING! All you had to do was stall the pathetic force of Arbites from reaching the landing pad, and you couldn't even manage that! Must your gods directly handle everything?"

The nobleman was crying and whimpering.

"Please, don't - "

"I SAID, SILENCE!"

The massive, eight foot tall warband leader pulled out a Storm Bolter with a snarling, twitching daemonic maw around its barrel. He held the barrel at head of the cowering human, dressed in a tattered set of silk robes profaned by unholy sigils.

"You know what I think right now? I think I should kill you for your failure right here and now, mortal."

The finely dressed man began to shiver uncontrollably, seeing the index finger curl further.

"Nonononono PLEASE!"

The gun clicked, its bolt hitting air when the Marine had pulled the trigger. The nobleman saw fit to look up, his face still set in expression of fear and awe.

"You really thought I was going to kill you for that! By Slaanesh, that was an amazing performance. Let's get things straight. I have no wish to see you dead, nor do I want you suffering torture for something out of your control. Indeed, my men and I believe we are up against an Inquisition kill-team proper. None of your scummers could have prepared appropriately for such, but by bringing us this bounty, you have done a great service for the glory of Chaos, and especially for the glory of our Prince."

"Th – thank you, sir, for forgiving me."

The giant chuckled, his voice as rough as sandpaper cigarettes in the 42nd millennium. (#ripdominique)

"Just keep those drugs coming. They're hella' crazy."

The leader and his six fellow ex-Marines stepped towards the front door of the spacious, dimly-lit apartment. They had work to do, but the warband master stopped at the door, a slight grin on his face.

"Don't get me wrong though, if it was an Arbites squad we were dealing with, this conversation would have gone very differently."

The nobleman collapsed onto the floor, taking deep breathes and exhaling slowly.

* * *

The stair access was flung open with a crash, the plasma grenade flashed with a loud bang, smearing oily blood against the walls as the only evidence it ever existed. The sergeant started to vault over a large wood desk and the hole-filled body of its previous occupier, whose face was no longer recognizable. Vinyl wood and thick clothes were a minor obstacle for weapons designed to counter heavy infantry armor.

As he flew by the dead corpse, a door was slammed open to his left, nearly knocking the soldier on his forehead. He turned his head, mouth opened in a shout.

"Who the feck - "

The huge frame of a traitor Space Marine in Indomitus Pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armor angling his body to fit through the doorway was a disturbing sight to see, even with his helmet censoring the worst parts.

Meanwhile, the Marine looked through his helmet's autosenses and found not a single icon of devotion to the False Emperor or to the Dark Gods on the armor, and it was too bulky and drab to be the skintight suits of the Eldar. Their eyes met each other in a moment that dragged on for eternity, before the one who was mid-vault finished his parkour outside of the other's field of vision.

"SHITSHITSHIT WE HAVE ENEMY HEAVY INFANTRY CONTACT IMMINENT ENGAGEMENT AT MY 12 O'CLOCK - "

The Terminator smashed through the doorframe, having given up on minimizing property damage to pursue this new challenge. His brothers further widened the Space-Marine-shaped hole in the wall as they shoved through, though their lack of Terminator suits lessened the damage.

The noble cringed at the map destruction in his home. He pulled out a bong and lighter to comfort himself.

"Rawr XD."

The device was snatched away from his hands by a daemonette, who inhaled all of its contents in a single drag. She/he/it passed it back to the broken man, who grabbed it back, and stared dejectedly at the floor.

* * *

The sergeant ran like hell was after him (an appropriate analogy), bashing in a misshapen skull with the butt of his rifle. Chloride's lasrifle flashed a dozen times on low-power into the sides and backs of four pinned cultists, who collapsed from twelve craters in their upper torsos. One man turned to look at the two soldiers who'd decimated their siege before meeting face-first with his left arm and the floor. The veteran leader wildly waved his left hand at the three members of Team B and the ride waiting for them to get on.

"Two blues coming in hot! I repeat, we are coming in hot! Don't be stupid and try 'n' shoot us, hold your fire!"

It was sort of obvious, with the hulking bodies of the monsters behind the green 'friendly' marks on the two Federation uniforms. From the landing pad, the sharpshooter's sniper rifle barked, a spike of metal bouncing around one marine's pauldron with a flurry of cinematic particle effects as a man inside screamed in rage and pain. The heavy machine gun on the transport's rear was obstructed by the low clearance of the landing platform's sliding door, while their LMG laid down bursts of suppressive fire that were ignored by the enemy. The sergeant risked a look back through his scope, only eight shots left in his rifle, and saw the untouched form of one of the knights.

He tapped the trigger, and the transhuman's cuirass was impacted by four blue beams. The superhuman staggered when one of his hearts received a free piercing but stayed standing, aiming and firing his bolter in one smooth motion. The bang of the propellant charge and the rockets' whoosh were deafening even through active noise cancellation, as casings clattered on the floor.

The first shot clipped the sergeant's shields, overloading the weakened barrier in an explosion of shrapnel, and the second shot created a spiderweb of cracks on the chest of the operative's black HECSS armor, firing his last four shots into the ceiling as he hit the floor. He chided himself for his lack of trigger discipline, but he hadn't expected to take so much damage so quickly.

"Riperino, asshole."

Chloride's lasrifle cracked at full power, and the beam punched straight through the aggressor's helmet. The suit toppled over and the gun fell silent, its wielder dead before he hit the ground. The squad leader slammed a new SAPAC into his rifle with desperate urgency. A deep voice screamed outside of the comms network.

"BROTHER! NOOO!"

Their reaction to death was like a civilian's. So they seemed elite, but dying was permanent?

The enormous un-helmed soldier aimed his gun, drum magazine and all, and unleashed a barrage of shells at the woman. She turned her lasrifle on what was apparently a 'Traitor Marine', but wasn't fast enough. Two of the bolts exploded on her protective fields before it fizzled out, and the third tore her right arm from its socket. More blew her chest wide open in an explosion of gore and black ceramite, knocking her off her feet. Spinning, she fell face-first over a barricade, as another .75 caliber shell glanced off one of her jetpack exhausts, causing a burst of blue exhaust to blossom from the stabilizer jet. More fell like rain around her, in a hurricane of metal and fire that made the sergeant involuntarily think of a thunderstorm.

"That's what you deserve, whor - "

Green high-power shots from the LPA150 whizzed into thick Terminator plate, scorching black the pastel pink paint as the warrior put an arm in front of his face. A black rectangle (with a helpful red square around the head) returned at the back of its allies, and a request showed up on the sergeant's visor.

++Permission to activate self-destruct requested++

"This thing ain't even touching that guy!"

What was her real name again? Right, Chloe Wilson.

"Hold that, I'm coming in. Squad, I'm moving to retrieve Chloe's tags, I need covering fire!"

"Sniper covering!"

The sergeant began sprinting to his fallen comrade, and the HEKEP rifle screeched again, flinging a plasma round into the Terminator, melting and cracking his blessed breastplate and shoving him into a Noise Marine. The more drug-addled of the two fell on the floor, shouting and flailing as he struggled to shove the champion off himself.

"Ow man! You just knocked my stuff outta tune! Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this gear in working condition?!"

The warband leader was too busy screaming and struggling not grab his chin with a Chainfist to notice himself being rolled off his cushion and onto the floor.

The newbie pulled a standard-issue auto shotgun off the top of his backpack reactor, racking the slide to load the first shell and taking aim at the renegade Marine. 10-gauge explosive 'Firecrackers' slammed into his armor plates, the first four shots barely getting a flinch out of the Noise Marine as he pushed himself back up.

The sergeant saw his teammate's status dot go red on his visor, and he slid next to her body like a Cubs player in the 2016 World Series. The newest member of the squad persisted in firing off the rest of his ten-round magazine, glimpsing his seventh slug crack the triggered Noise Marine's unique weapon.

"AGGGGGGGGHHHH!"

Ignoring the chaos, the sergeant's hands curled around a palm-sized case of ceramite and plasteel, tore it from the pair of wires that went to the back of her cooling neck, and slipped it into an empty pocket. The newly-arrived daemonette ducked under the fire, using the sergeant and barricade as a shield. The machine gunner spotted the movement, shouting a warning.

"Sir, you have one of the unknowns coming your way, I can't fire without hitting you!"

"Crap."

Still on his back, the non-com opened another pocket and withdrew a glowing medical injector as he opened his left shoulder guard. A square metal port sat underneath, and he jabbed the stick in, sighing in relief as the breaches on his armor closed up. He raised his rifle to his cheeks, then peeked over the wall.

A giant claw grazed his helmet, snapping his head to the right with a plume of glass. He held down the trigger while fragments of broken visor bounced off protective contacts on his eyes, but misjudged his enemy and instead shot the end of the hallway and the marine with the injured arm full of holes. The dead marine's microfusion reactor went off in a small cloud of fire, destabilized by metal at twelve hundred degrees celsius making fresh exit holes in its containment chamber.

Blinking to make sure no glass fragments had taken up residence in his eyes, the sergeant saw the sigils and desecrations he'd been blind to earlier. And then he saw the face of the thing that had dislodged his helmet, and it _giggled_. Headset no longer properly fitting on his head, a whisper reached his ears.

"What's wrong, soldier?"

And he screamed.

* * *

The sergeant was frozen for several seconds, screaming himself hoarse in a cry that slowly went from unadulterated terror to disgust, to rage. His concealed laser popped out, but her pincers clamped over his left arm and locked it down, the ceramic vambrace (7) beginning to crack under the pressure. The vitals display flickered and went black. The squad's LMG continued to fire at the Terminator to little effect, as he began to recover from the sniper's 20mm-sized dose of plasma. _Her_ grin widened.

"Having fun? I can give you all your desires - "

He jerked his arm back with a grunt, dragging the person holding it over the ramparts and onto the floor, pulling his power knife from his utility belt. Kneeling over the daemon, his right hand stabbed down with all the force he and his actuators could apply, but the daemon's pointed fingers grabbed his wrist and their arms shook as his weapon came closer and closer. All he had to do was scratch her, and it knew that.

He tried to shake free his left hand, but he couldn't get it free. The newbie locked his shotgun back to its magnet, and reached for the spherical shell of a plasma grenade.

"Oh, so you like being on top? I can work with that..."

The sergeant's expression remained grim, the blade's glowing edges having only three more inches to travel. The recruit stood up behind the barricade, live explosive in hand. He judged the distances, then called out to his teammates as he prepared to toss the grenade.

"Frag out!"

Sergeant 'Sodium' looked up, iridescent combat knife hovering millimeters away from his goal. A bolt rifle was loaded with a new round, and was aimed at the Noise Marine, who finally retuned his arcane weapon with a triumphant cry.

"I spy a little mortal! Listen to my latest voxtape, and tremble before its might!"

The Terminator leader backed away from his brother's theatrics, not sure what was about to happen. The squad sniper tugged at the trigger, not wanting to know what listening to his 'voxtape' was like.

"PEW!"

The Marine pressed a button, somehow right as a 20mm bolt was escaping from the confines of its muzzle. Discordant sound waves spewed out of his instrument as the round crossed the distance and ended up right in the way of hardcore dubstep, creating a cloud that was as see-through as the typical plascrete wall. The noises ripped through the landing pad barricade, then the recruit's body from the chest down, and his grenade landed next to the sergeant and the Lesser Daemon he was trying to kill. Both stared at it for a second, knowing full-well what the tiny device could do, and immediately let go of each other.

The daemon jumped to safety over the barricade well away from the Federation soldier, into the smoke, and the twin engines of the sergeant's jetpack came to life with of blue flames as he leapt towards the recruit's recumbent form. With his eye protection gone, the hallway was lit a blinding white by a miniature for a fraction of a second. Getting up, the sergeant looked back. There was a glowing indent in the floor where his friend and the barricade had been seconds before, and the curtain of smoke behind it hadn't dissipated, which confirmed one thing.

"I guess I don't have to authorize that self-destruct now."

Walking away, the sergeant shut off his power knife, and sheathed it with a shnick at his waist. Checking behind him to see if that 'daemon' had followed him, he pushed a blue file cabinet off his squadmate and prepared to disconnect the ID card nestled at the gurgling soldier's neck, but paused as he looked into the recruit's eyes. Not being able to move most of your body and being fully aware of it was unnerving, no matter how many times one experienced it. He kneeled over the pale-faced soldier, searching through the vest pockets.

"S-sorry s-sir."

The sergeant found the camera he'd been looking for, and looked him in the eyes.

"It's all right, kid. Close your eyes now, you'll be opening them soon enough."

Taking off the ID card, the man put it in the same pocket he'd put Chloride's card. He gave a mental command for the soldier's nuclear reactor to self-destruct after fifteen seconds, then ran towards the open bay of the S-1350, motioning for the others to follow him. The machine gunner fired one last burst off his rifle before flipping up his bipod, and the sniper stood, not taking her eyes off the hallway even as she stepped onto the plane's cargo door. The squad commander ducked his head when the recruit exploded in a ball of light, and finally gave the orders to their escorts.

"All accounted for, get us out of here! Be ready for enemy fire."

"Yes, sir."

The shuttle's cloak tore in half for a second as it suddenly jumped upwards a meter, then smoothed out as the loading door resealed with the fuselage.

"All right, power to ion thrusters, check. Cabin atmospheric seal, check. Gravity impellers functioning. Increasing thrust to main drives, switching from landing mode to flight mode."

The copilot slapped away the hand of the pilot, and as a pair of levers were pushed forward, the low hum of the anti-gravity units was overwhelmed by the building shriek of the two fuselage-mounted rear engines. With more grace than one might have expected of a thirty-meter transport plane, the S-1350 exited Imperial airspace with a drawn-out, high-pitched shriek.

* * *

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late to the party! What's up - "

Stepping out of the artificial rainbow-colored Warp rift, the Slaneeshi sorcerer stared at the two bodies, then at the ashen face of his friend and the surprisingly despondent daemonette resting her head against the transhuman's chest. The Noise Marine was sitting to the side, quietly talking with the cult leader. The nobleman was still in shock apparently.

"They're dead, brother. Garrus, Ludd, they will never progress on the Path to Glory, not with us."

There was silence as the psyker shut his eyes tight. The sensory deprivation ached as a voice in his mind cried for freedom, but the man's fists tightened as he reopened them.

"By Carron's metal boxes, this is bad. In more ways than one."

The daemon voiced her thoughts.

"Huh. I almost got their leader too. If only I'd succeeded in claiming his soul for the Prince."

"Yeah, you did good baby."

There was another moment of quiet, uncharacteristic of the hard-partying traitors, ended by the sorcerer once more. He made eye contact with his leader, the usual happy-go-lucky attitude disappearing into a small recess in his mind.

"What do we do to avenge them now? More importantly, who took them?"

* * *

The sergeant walked straight into the medbay, his dirty black armor contrasting sharply with the clinical white of the room. He plugged in Chloe and the recruit's (he really needed to stop calling the recruit 'the recruit') cards into a bank of empty slots by a cylindrical tank of fluid, freezing as the other hand wrapped around the secondary he had mag-clamped to his backpack.

Sliding the bulky shape off the top of his armor's main generator, he beheld the weapon in his hands, and laughed.

It was a LAV72C (8), a reloadable missile launcher, loaded with an AP dumb fire rocket.

* * *

The Inquisitor glowered at the report in the center of the desk.

It was rare of him to show anything that resembled doubt, and his Acolyte took notice immediately.

"Is there something wrong, sir?"

"Yes, there is. Half the populace of a Hive World fell to heresy, and - "

A smiling woman dressed in pajamas proclaiming 'Order Of The Argent Shroud' over her frame opened the door to the room and stuck her head in the room.

"Do I hear the word heresy, Inquisitor Camberlain?"

"Errm, no, you must have heard something else, Ophelia."

"Oh, okay."

Her smile faded, replaced by downcast eyes and a glum expression. Both men watched to make sure the door shut tight behind her, the click a sound of salvation sent by the God-Emperor on high. Even for a Sister Superior of the Orders Militant, Ophelia was a bit zealous. The Inquisitor returned to the discussion at hand.

" - And with it a confirmed third of the local PDF. If that isn't 'something wrong', I don't know what is. But it appears that the forces of Chaos were not the only ones to be at the scene. None of the traitors we know were involved made use of aircraft, yet here there is a clear incident of unauthorized air traffic around one of the Hive City spires, right when the incidents of rebellion started. And - "

Camberlain picked up a dataslate, skimmed its contents, and then flipped it around to show his Interrogator.

"Look at this. One Arbitrator found a case sitting in a corner in the middle-class sections, at first thinking it was a bomb of some sort, and acted accordingly. Called in the bomb unit, set up a perimeter, typical procedure. When they opened it, however, they found something very different."

"A surveillance recorder?"

"Indeed, it had high definition holovid and audio feeds to vantage points across the entire city. Not xenos either, the device's language was some kind of formalized Low Gothic, which is why the Arbitrators and loyal PDF used it to quickly crush the rebellion. It's being checked over by Tech-Adept Renwald right now for signs of taint, but I doubt she'll find that we missed anything."

His disciple continued to read through the chicken scratch of the person who'd written the report, before his eyes caught on one of the sentences and an accompanying image.

"There's no Imperial government organization that has a logo like that, and a cult wouldn't be caught dead with such a simple design. That name, too, it just doesn't sound grimdark enough to be from around here."

"Exactly. And a few days ago, an observatory station picked up more than fifty new star systems, in the area that the Storm of Noise occupied up until now. Not a single resource has been spared to investigating the possible threats, likely because the weak-willed didn't want to know."

The dataslate's screen filled with static, then was slapped on the side by the Interrogator and continued working normally.

"You think the Warp Storm was responsible for hiding the existence of a society that can make runs through Imperial space without detection, for as long as three thousand years? Sir, could anything have possibly survived that long and still have technology as advanced as in the report?"

The Acolyte didn't realize the implications of what he said until he saw the Inquisitor's face twitch, staring at his personal library of banned texts. _The Greater Good And You, Adepta Sororitas Gone Wild_ , _Craftworld Culture Recipes..._ By the God-Emperor, a highly advanced civilization that had survived three thousand years under constant daemonic incursions and it had just been freed from its cage? They were the only Ordos Xenos assets available for action in the sector, what if this 'Federation' was as powerful as the Necrons? He fought down the urge to shiver.

Camberlain's retinue had been on R and R for three days after an investigation of a suspected Genestealer Cult that had turned out to be competing with a scout force for the 14th Crusade. There was a reason for the Interrogator's right arm being a bionic augment, and he really did not believe that they were combat-effective yet, even with the addition of a squad of some very competent Sisters Of Battle.

Was state of readiness still a factor, with the preservation of the Imperium on the line? The Inquisitor answered.

"We did it. What says no one else did?"

Well, he was frakked now.

* * *

 **MLG Codex Of MLG Stuff For MLG People**

 **(*1.)** The Falcon Avionics S-1350 shuttle is a thirty-five-meter long, heavily armored transport plane capable of interstellar travel that mounts a massive remotely-operated gun turret on the bottom of its nose. Originally designed as a simple transport shuttle that could survive repeated insertions into a hot LZ, the S-1350 and its large cargo hold quickly found new uses, first as a superheavy bomber capable of dropping anti-capital-ship bombs, then as a dedicated CAS gunship, and soon as an assault dropship in the F.A.F. For four hundred years, a powerful fusion reactor, easy-to-maintain anti-grav suspensors scaled up from hovercars, resilient life support systems, and upgrade kits have kept the aircraft from becoming obsolete.

The version used by Special Observations carries living quarters, amenities, and a small armory in the forward half of its cargo hold, while medical facilities, electronic warfare equipment, FTL communications, and the deployment area are located in the rear twenty-five meters of the craft. Designed to be self-sufficient, they are used as operating bases and getaway vehicles for S.O operatives behind enemy lines.

 **(*2.)** Reloadable single-shot version of the standard HEKEP rifle. When fired, the power normally used for five shots is instead put into launching one, increasing effective range and muzzle velocity. Like its bigger cousins, it requires an external power source, like a cable to a HECSS suit's generator. Infamously known as the 'Assassin's Choice,' due to its usage in the assassination of Federation President Zao in the year 6925. His death was sorely felt by the public, regardless of species or gender.

 **(*3.)** General Mechanics Automated Versatile Aerial/Space drones are thirty-meter wide, forty-meter long flying-wing style aircraft that were designed with stealth and large payloads in mind. Capable of carrying anything from cutting edge sensors to spy on enemy formations from afar to heavy artillery for long-range air support and a starspace drive for short-range jumps, the AVAS platform excels at missions where many other craft would simply lack the necessary endurance to be effective.

Even with a defensive armament of two to four LPA point HMG point defense turrets, a spotted drone is a dead drone, one way or another.

 **(*4.)** The LPA150 Squad Automatic Rifle is a light machine gun that has the option to fire double-density particle bolts in addition to normal LPA50 rifle-strength shots, while still being capable of using the same SAPAC magazines that any other LPA weapon uses. Due to increased ammo consumption, the SAR has two magazine wells sitting side-by-side under the adjustable stock instead of one, and is issued with a unique Commando-Dual SAPAC that has double the ammunition capacity of standard SAPACs, and gets rid of the requirement to load the gun twice whenever empty. The special mags also replace the ancient practice of clamping/taping two magazines together wherever they could be requisitioned for supplies.

Unlike more recent LPA weapons, the LPA150's cooling shroud is large, tubular, and heavy, a distinctive trait of older, slow-firing particle beam weapons when heat dissipation techniques were less developed. Also has a stockless variant designed for underarm mounting that can be directly linked to a user's power generator and mind control unit, allowing other devices to be held in the freed hand.

 **(*5.)** Special Observations units undergo heavy body modification after passing their tests, ranging from the implantation of concealed weapons like wrist daggers and compact L5 lasers (predecessors to the current L15 pistol, with a third of the charge capacity), to induced adrenaline production and the placement of a chip to regulate the tactile stimuli that reaches the brain. The latter ensures they can ignore otherwise debilitating pain, although loss of motor control can't be negated. After their years in the force are over, operators are reverted to their body from before they joined their unit. Rarely, some refuse to give up their augmentations and go rogue, but none have succeeded.

Infantry lasers like the L5 and L15 pistols, and the L25 DMR can switch between a high-power mode for dealing with heavy infantry and a low-power mode that increases the number of shots available. Using built-in power generators, las-weapons never require reloading, and are light on logistics. The equivalent to a reload for these weapons is pulling a handle back to safely vent heat from the laser pump and power supply (which can require precious seconds, and two hands) to enable the gun to stay functional. The basis for these miniaturized components were the weaponry of the technologically-adept Engineers, which were (and still are) almost entirely reliant on some form of directed energy.

 **(*6.)** HEKEP variant designed for direct fire support roles from S-1350 turrets.

 **(*7.)** A homogenous piece of ceramite covering the left forearm, incorporating a backup computer, holo-display and atomic watch.

 **(*8.)** The Light Anti-Vehicle 72 – Compact is a portable missile launcher firing a variety of 120mm lock-on missiles and unguided rockets, which sacrifice their guidance systems for more damage. It is a shortened, less accurate version of the full-size LAV72 (which requires a shoulder mount on HECSS suits and a tight grip on heavy infantry suits like the HECSS-H). The AP rocket mentioned uses a shaped explosive charge at its tip to defeat defenses like reactive armor, and a plasma-generating 'injector' system behind it that fires a 'beam' of plasma, unlike smaller HEKEP AP rounds, which aren't directional. The plasma 'injection' of the AP load allows the LAV72 to compete with standard F.A.F tank weaponry, and cripple even heavy vehicles when used correctly.

 **A/N: The next chapter will probably focus on multiple perspectives on different situations, and will be much less focused on video-game-mechanics-based squad combat than this chapter was. Tldr; more plot advancement/worldbuilding, less writing practice.**

 **Thanks for reading, and leave a review/follow/fave if you'd like to. Constructive criticism would be appreciated.**


	7. Sanguinala Gifts

**A/N: Happy New Year's! It's still the same month, right? Before we proceed, in case I figure out the rest of what I'm going to write, I just want to say my headcanon version of what a bolter is. An Astartes Godwyn Mark Vb bolter (or boltgun) is a battle rifle that fires cased 0.75 caliber rounds of varying types from a thirty-round sickle magazine. The nasty recoil that comes from firing the average bolter comes from the charge that launches the bolt round out the barrel at the speed of a normal gun's muzzle velocity, and a booster rocket starts to burn after leaving the muzzle to accelerate the round until it smashes into some poor heretic's face, and then explodes after punching its way through armor. Heavy bolters do the same, but with a bigger 1.00 caliber round instead, and bolt pistols also do the same, but with more manageable recoil because of a shorter bolt round (less mass, smaller launch charge, less gibs, less 'ow my arm was just pulling the trigger where did it go'). Why did I put this (really long) explanation up here? I have no idea.**

 **Areadbhair: Honestly, I was hesitant about writing out that chapter the way I did, because I wanted to make sure the Federation had at least a few elite mooks using generic elite mook equipment, who were capable of surviving a fair fight without looking like Mary Sues (the whole idea of traitor Space Marines is absolutely terrifying, and I tried to communicate that sense of unease through that chapter). Although I plan to make some small edits to that chapter, I would like to once again say thank you for your praise and your support, it's good to see that people approve of how I'm going about this.**

 **I still don't own Warhammer 40K, it's all GW's stuff to raise prices on.**

"GAK! Aaaaaaa..."

Bundled up in a fetal position, the voidsman shouted a string of curses that would be less than appropriate for inclusion in a non-erotic story meant for online viewing in a fanfiction repository. Not that they would appear in one. He took a breath, and managed to push his face and chest up from the floor.

"Emperor-damned machines..."

The tap of a metal foot against the side of his abdomen made the man's next words catch in his throat. His eyes widened, and he mouthed out a curse, trying and failing to curb his shivering.

"I-I meant no disrespect to - "

The rating looked up fearfully at the Techpriest, then let out the breath he'd been holding back.

"By the Golden Throne, you scared me. Was it too much trouble to give a warning first?"

"..."

The Mechanicus Adept offered a shiny mechadendrite to the human, who reached for it, but paused and took his hand away.

"What's with the quiet act today, Sokolov? You're not blabbing on and on about the Omnissiah like every other day. You all right?"

Sokolov tilted his metal skull, and his augmetic eyes seemed to glow with mirth as they peered at the navyman's face. The man scooted on the floor nervously, then shut his eyes, grabbed the hovering prosthetic, and yanked himself off the uncomfortably cold ground.

"Thanks."

Brushing off lint from his work pants, he noticed the dataslate in Sokolov's (mostly) flesh and blood hand was facing him, with large, bolded text on it.

++Huehuehue, seems like you got sp00ked. Check dis out m8, it'll get you praying to the 0mn1ss1ah in no time!++

"Uh huh. Sure."

The screen switched to what looked like a complete list of all the cargo their Overlord-class battlecruiser, _Antithesis Of Faithlessness_ , was taking on at the docks. Plasma shells for the macrobatteries, food, fuel, spare replacement parts, and infantry wargear. _Lots_ of infantry wargear. Sentinels, carapace armor, shotguns, Melta-weapons, and ammunition beyond what the crew could use. They didn't need that kind of firepower, unless -

++I c u've come to the same conclusion I have. Inqy camberlain is planning sometin big++

"Has anyone told you how bad your texting skills are, Sokolov? Because it's a disaster, and we both know that you're perfectly capable of speech. And how in the Warp did you get your hands on this? If the Inquisitor hasn't mentioned it yet, it probably wasn't just lying around for a menial like you to find."

'Menial' didn't get a rise out of Sokolov, but the insult to his writing style made his shoulders shake in a way that was suspiciously similar to laughter. He tapped away at the dataslate, then turned it back around.

++A priest never reveals his secrets. :)++

"I don't think that's how the saying goes."

* * *

With a flick of her wrist, a flaming sword almost decapitated him, and he grunted as it missed by a hair's length. His sword was held to the side, feeling no small amount of relief as it bounced off his broadsword with a clang. Feeling lucky enough to hit the 'I'm feeling lucky' button on a Google (1), he threw a sharp riposte into her path, the best he could muster without his armor's strength boost. Damn woman was a hell of a lot faster than those Orks, and not predicting her movements seven steps ahead only got the crap beaten out of him. Like she wasn't already doing that. Halfway through his thrust she had switched her heading and was already running around his stretching arm, ready to absolutely ravage him from behind with her oversized weapon.

No wait, that sounded really bad – he spun on his back heel to make sure she didn't get behind him, the cooly glowing edges of his sword swinging at her midriff – but he really didn't have time to be watching for innuendos. He cursed as she ducked under the power sword, the red square on her head jumping down on his visor with it. He suddenly felt a crushing vice grip around his right hand, and suddenly he found himself looking up at her stern wrist twisted, but the Wosthuf-Templar series (2) blade only twirled in useless circles. Something said to use your skills to -

Conveniently, his blood had already frozen over like the surface of Europa, so his body didn't have to do it when he heard her sharp, angular face speak two words in that infuriatingly arrogant voice of hers.

"Too slow."

The burning sword met his suit's collar, which was designed to get in the way of shrapnel, stub rounds, and garrotes, and slipped straight past the ceramite strips with blinding speed. He felt it lightly jab his Adam's apple, and flinched, but succeeded in not faking a cough. More words were prominently displayed in the center of his visor, in light sky blue.

++Practice session aborted. Would you like to restart? Y/N++

++N++

++Closing++

As soon as he flipped up the virtual reality display from his visor, he felt the glowing plastic wand in her hand move away from his throat. He was also greeted with a very displeased scowl. What a surprise.

"Was that good enough for you, oh mighty Farseer?"

The scowl on her face grew even more, and he cheered over his small victory. Something whispered far away about how if you used your something to kill her you could something an even bigger vict -

"As I have stated previously, I am putting the least amount of my expertise into this simulation, mon-keigh Admiral, yet you have consistently failed to land a blow since the second round. Do you bear that toy of yours for display only, or what?"

Slowly rolling his eyes for most of her rant, he suddenly shifted around a little at the last statement. She had a way of bringing out insecurities he'd never known of.

"Uh - "

Fortunately she didn't seem to hear that mistake, as she continued her ranting. Killing her would end -

"I bless you with my presence and teaching, yet it appears that apprenticing you to Autarch Mellis would have been a better use of my limited time. We made a deal, and I expected even your graceless self to have the intelligence not to waste such an opportunity, mon-keigh Carson."

Wait, it seemed he had an opportunity here to score one for the Federation!

"Wow, you actually bothered to use my name instead of referring to me as a rank! It's a Christmas miracle! And in what kind of situation would I ever be fighting outside of my armor, Farseer?"

She shut him down immediately, a small smirk replacing her anger. Probably saying 'I told you humans are dumb.' somewhere in her head. Killing her would end the insults. You don't even need an actual weapon -

"There are plenty of methods by which you could be forced into the previous situation. Say, if an assassin attacked you in your sleep, or indeed any time you weren't wearing your armor, the context would be almost indistinguishable. And if the average mon-keigh Commissar can flail around with a pointy stick nearly as well as you do in your power armor, then you will be a very ineffective device for eliminating threats such as the fallen Losseainn."

Carson tamped down on his annoyance to ask the question that bugged him. Well, at least it was what Eva wanted, an interrogation.

"Fair point. But Los-sei-en? They're the 'Space Marines,' right? They're a threat to you people?"

For all her talk about being more 'cultured' and 'natural superiority,' the small growl that emanated from her was quite animalistic and rough. And that made her worthy of being kill -

"For once the mon-keigh is not completely wrong. I cannot teach you the definition of war, but one cycle, your childish little alliance will blunder its way into a meeting with their savage kind, and your ideas of superiority and invincibility will be shattered. For that is the way of this galaxy, endless war and endless loss. The idiot greenskins are the least of your problems, for while they can destroy, they cannot corrupt your weak wills from the inside like others can."

Well then. The sneer on her face had twitched, and he felt the arrogance drown under a wave of calmness. Carson broke the stare, checking out the racks of equipment in the training room. His muscles relaxed, as if a buzzing light in the room shut off, and he began to recollect his thoughts – had he seriously thought about killing her? Where the hell had that – her next words came out in a soft, almost maternal manner.

"And so we move on from this farce of swordplay to something you show slightly more potential in – what your counterparts in the galaxy have named 'witches' and 'psykers'."

The Navy commander returned his gaze to the woman above him, raising an eyebrow as she began to slowly glide back and forth in front of him.

"It is quite clear that you do not believe in the existence of possibilities beyond the rational, beyond what you can see with your eyes or augmetics. Therefore the irrational is only something to be studied, to be explained away in a sterile manner and forgotten from your short memories. But we both know what you fail to comprehend is precisely what occurred on that greenskin's ship, mon-keigh. Even with the strong barrier here, I could feel your disturbance of the Sha'eil thousands of kilometers away."

She could be a racist prick even without her emotions getting in the way. Yay, ingrained habits.

"What is the Sha'eil, your feeble mind asks? The Sha'eil is what the mon-keigh Imperium calls the Warp, a realm parallel to ours and filled with hostile... entities, for lack of a better term in this language you call Space English. And if I could see the exposure of your soul to that twisted hellscape, then the agents of the four gods must be drawn towards its fire like pilgrims to a shrine."

Carson leaned forward and raised his other eyebrow so that his disbelief was as clearly written on his face as it could be. The tattoo that flowed around her left eye twitched, breaking her mask of serenity.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Of all the things you took offense to, you question the existence of souls, the one Isha-damned thing you can see with your own eyes?"

* * *

Naval Security Officer Eva slid against the back of her chair and dropped one arm by her side as the other held up a clunky headset to her ear. She regretted being cheap and thinking that she wouldn't use the desk chair that often, because a few more credits would have bought her nice, cushy armrests in front of her security camera feeds -

Huh, level of corruption had spiked for a moment there. Below the threshold for Unreality activity, but just barely. Energy was fluctuating continuously, but not in any sort of a pattern. Still, it didn't do that before they got dumped here. She pulled up a keyboard and a third window on the holo-display, the title reading 'Top Secret Notes – DO NOT READ!1!'

++Reality being warped – eldar "farseer" subconscious unstable/undisciplined? External source; ie. 3rd party?++

Eva looked back at her camera feeds, unsure whether or not she should add their VR units' renders to her view, but moved her hand away from a pair of buttons. The Eldar would probably notice the milliseconds-long increase in latency even with the huge stick up her ass, and she was trying to keep the expensive _Unity's Edge_ from ending up as a cloud of debris.

She cracked a smile when her 'boss' got beaten up again (for the fourth time in a row) by a woman skinnier than any under-dressed supermodels she'd ever seen in her life. Not that she looked at those sorts of online magazines and art repositories. That was for immature teenagers who worried too much about their body image, not her.

++Eldar are fast, extreme proficiency in melee, reliant on accurate strikes and movement speed equal to highly augmented humans to win. Actual combat likely 2 involve deployment of unreality energy, supplemented by ranged weaponry. Comparison below.++

It took a few seconds for the table to fill up with numbers, which expanded when she copy-pasted the stats for the average Army grunt next to it.

++Frequently takes time to insult human society, suspect god-complex; this may be a general eldar thing according to interviews with researchers recovered at the hybera incident.++

Hearing interesting things from her headset, her fingers began to type again.

++Appears extremely knowledgeable about what she is, alternatively may have extremely detailed delusions. Cannot confirm either of these hypothesis without more information. See attached vid recording for more detail.++

Grabbing the bottom of her seat and pulling it back to the desk, the covert operative steeled her body and mind to listen to the screeching voice of the Farseer for what could be a while. At multiple points, the Farseer seemed to stare at the cameras, like she knew she was being watched. Unlikely.

Several minutes later, Eva breathed a sigh of relief as she tapped the 'Stop' button and clicked 'Attach File' in the name of humanity.

++Uploading. . .++

"Watson, could you send off this message to my _primary_ employer? No records, authorization 'Alpha-Oscar-Kilo'?"

She liked giving requests to Watson. It wasn't like it could deny human orders without some serious corruption. Not that she wasn't prepared for such a day.

"Yes ma'am, sending now."

She'd gathered lots of sensitive information about the major factions of the galaxy and its dangers without anyone getting killed or 'cleaned up' by a team from Control, and everyone was safe for the moment. It was all in a day's work.

* * *

"By the Dark Gods, and especially Tzeentch, no one gives me enough credit corrupting psykers from a dozen star systems away. Daemons think it's so easy to convince some unwitting Feudal World witch to turn away from the False Emperor, but do you ever hear them boasting about how they enlightened the well-educated, well-treated, non-degenerate psyker whom you hardly know anything about except that he was being protected by a pointy-ear?"

His assistant stood in the corner of the room, completely unconcerned by the sorcery surrounding him.

"No sir."

The man with Tzeentch's symbol proudly tattooed on his forehead made wild gestures with his arms, nearly knocking over the jar of souls on the altar. His assistant stayed calm.

"Exactly! All those idiots can do is gang up on the emo creeps hiding in the underhive of nowhere, not actually break reinforced mental barriers! They're useless when coerced, useless when offered a reward for their 'help', useless even when you bind them! Like, - "

A holo-pict flickered to life, showing the familiar face of a certain Slaaneshi sorcerer who was pushing back against something off-screen. Probably some slutty daemone – you can have one too if you join my master's sensational entourage – no miss, I'm not switching away from Tzeentch just because you offer the one thing he doesn't have.

" - Oh hello there, Xerxes. Everything all right?"

The cane in his hand felt warm, and the sorcerer prepared for a natural reaction to an incoming lie.

"I'm fine."

A burst of heat flared from his cane, which returned to its normal temperature afterwards. That was the lie? The things Tzeentch sent as Sanguinala gifts could vary in their usefulness.

"Listen, I need to ask you something. There's been rumblings of a new player in the Great Game, but as you know, the Gods have been less forthcoming about who they are than a Sister Of Battle told to let go of her flamer. I may have some information pertaining to the identity of this new faction, and your assistance with a plan could be very helpful. Your services will be paid for in souls of course, the number and qualities of which we can negotiate face to face."

Huh, this was interesting. On the one hand, Xerxes wasn't the type of Slaaneshi to backstab his allies without a really enticing reason, and he'd heard some stories that had him feeling the slightest edge of sympathy for his sometimes-rival sorcerer, but on the other hand Xerxes was a Slaaneshi. And around Slaaneshis, he'd go bankrupt from telling heretically adorably disgusting little Warp-scum 'no, I'm not going to swear allegiance to the Prince, but I'll buy some of your cookies.'

The mage ate into the last of his pintuple-chocolate-chip cookie, pushing around the plastek box as his hand searched through its innards for more of the snacks. He spent a few seconds frowning like he was deep in thought, frustration growing as he couldn't find where the last one was. He sighed, the assistant pulling up a possessed cogitator unit

"...Sure. What time would you like to schedule your appointment?"

* * *

Almost a hundred people sat under the towering ceiling of the semicircular meeting chamber, camera flashes going off intermittently and blanketing the room in light every so often. It all glittered off the perfectly unwrinkled navy blue dress pants and suit of one man sitting in the center of the room's rostrum, seven others beside him in various states of attention.

"Welcome to today's meeting of the Federation Delta Senate (3), ladies and gentlemen. Today, the Federation Delta Sector Council will lead a public discussion for the plan of action proposed by Governor Quizzly Abrams of Planet Emercia III, titled 'Semi-Active Isolationism'. He will present this plan in more detail, and the Ministry of Media would like to remind you all to save your questions until the presentation is over."

In the semi-circle of seats, a man with frazzled hair, a high forehead, and a dark gray suit stood up as the Senator pulled up a display into the air in front of him. Large broadcast cameras swiveled to meet his face.

"Thank you, Senator. Today I bring to you all the plan that our strategists across the entire sector came up with in case an event like this ever came to happen. We are in a situation where almost the entirety of the galaxy is in a continuous state of war and is xenophobic across the board. Contact with any local groups could result in an imminent and dire existential threat, which we may be unable to destroy even in our state of mobilization."

Silence. Good.

"Semi-Active Isolationism is a plan with three major points. One, we will not, for whatever reason, send any diplomatic entreaties to any locals which are not already aware of our existence. Considering the intelligence that our agencies have gathered in the course of their investigations, we may be able to stay off the radar of the major galactic powers here."

The Senator looked for and found a few encouraging nods and thoughtful faces, but the chamber was still quiet.

"Two, if any civilizations somehow make contact with us, as in sending a fleet into our space, our reaction will tailored on a case by case basis, with the worst case scenarios calling for complete destruction of the trespassing group. We will not accept any new member races from this galaxy, due to the inherent risks involved."

Murmurs ran through the journalists' section, the Senator hearing the words 'Eldar,' 'war hawks,' 'ruthless,' and more in the noise. A few of the representatives frowned, too. They still hadn't gotten over how their feelings had been hurt from the previous, private meeting. The Minuteman felt like shedding a tear for them, the pacifist from the Kamikaz system in particular.

"And three. We will actively fund and support the research and creation of a safe method for all our people to return home, and during the process will constantly check ourselves for any signs of infiltrators and diseases that don't belong in our homes. The end goal here is not to fix the world of all its troubles, because this isn't the Star Trek franchise, but to get home alive and intact."

* * *

++Engineer Remote Audio Recorder Device++

" _All right, the room's clear of bugs._ "

" _Confirmed. We are clear for business, Control._ "

" _Thank you. Everyone heard the public announcement today from the Senate? The 'Semi-Active Isolationism' plan is the official course of action the Federation leadership will be taking?_ "

" _Yes, we did. Seems Abrams forgot about the Eldar. Speaking of which, your assets are in contact with them everyday? And from their judgement, is that oracle of theirs shaping reality to what it wants the future to be, or is it calculating the odds of different outcomes and choosing the most likely one? Or, God forbid, is it actually capable of seeing the future?_ "

" _Seeing the future._ "

" _Well, that's good work, Agent, but can we get back on topic with the whole 'we are going to get home' thing? My opinion is, we can't go home. Even if the transport equipment that was lost was either salvageable or replicable, this galaxy has too many things which could contaminate the home plane._ "

" _I second his opinion. Which begs the question, Commander. Who screwed up on overseeing_ Gateway Research's _damned projects? I thought we owned half its shares, this should never have happened._ "

" _Those who were responsible for letting such a massive disaster occur have been liquidated and put to better use, Agents. Let your Navy assets know that packing up and going home is not an option._ "

* * *

"The goods are all loaded on the ship now, Magos?"

The man and the half-man in his rust red garb looked around the bridge, both satisfied by the state of affairs on the brains of the mighty _Antithesis Of Faithlessness_ , part-flesh servitors and humans in gold-embroidery and Imperial blue (4) rushing to and fro bathed in warm yellows the same intensity of candlelight.

" _Yes, Inquisitor. Airlocks are sealed, the Machine Spirits are content. Our companion ships bear the same readiness-status as us._ "

The Inquisitor nodded.

"Enter the Warp."

* * *

 **Glossary Of Terms**

(*1.) Google [ **goo** -guh l]:

(Noun): The trademark of a galactic technology company specializing in Interweb communication software and hardware, as well as its original product, the Google Search Engine.

(Verb): To search the Interweb for information using the Google Search Engine.

(*2.) The Wusthof-Templar blade is a product line of military-grade power swords made by the Wusthof company. These models are double-sided, straight-blade weapons of varying lengths, with a power field generator hidden in the core of an mono-edged adamantium blade and a hilt with power supply and control switch. Expensive and difficult to create even in the Age Of Nanotech, its mileage has varied with the Federation Armed Forces, due to the training required to maintain and fight with a sword. In more recent years though, power swords like the Wusthof-Templar series have found use as badges of status and more practical uses against the increasing number of Swarm Fleets, where a weapon that doesn't require ammo and has further reach than a knife is extremely useful.

Vice Admiral Carson's preferred variant is the Templar-90, which has a ninety centimeter blade light enough to be held in a single hand, leaving the other hand free for a laspistol or plasma carbine. The majority of his training was with the assistance of a Navy-patterned HECSS suit.

(*3.) The Federation Delta Senate is a sector-level legislative unit composed of Delta Sector's System Representatives (or planetary governors if there is only a single inhabited planet in that system) and led by the FDSC. They usually meet at the capital world of Koruscant, with a list of other planets suitable for a Senate meeting as emergency options. Photography is allowed.

(*4.) Imperial blue appears to be navy blue.

 **A/N: Whew, sorry that took so long guys, I was not managing my much loved schoolwork very well, and I felt like I needed to slow down on this stuff. I hope I didn't leave anyone waiting for too long. If this chapter has pacing issues or is just not that well-written, leave a review and let me know, so I can purge the heresy.**

 **I have put up a new, 40K related story called _The War Will End_ , which will be a series of short stories focusing on an actual AU (not one where I'm making up some of the stuff as I go along, i.e this story) called _The Nobledark Imperium_ , a project born out of the /tg/ board.**

 **Will I be able to time-manage things properly, considering I basically left this story untouched for quite some time? I don't know, honestly, but I'm going to try my best.**


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